Glory and Gore
by stopnatsu
Summary: He's cold, he's ruthless, he's a killer. It's in his blood. He's a member of the brotherhood, Fiore's most dangerous gang, and he's ready for a fight. Lucy is a journalist in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe she makes him more human. But victory is contagious, and Natsu is playing a dangerous game.
1. Dive Bar

It started with a girl's night.

Lucy had been far too focused on work lately; it had been weeks since she'd last seen Levy. And as Lucy's best friend, Levy couldn't simply stand by idly as her friend worked herself to death. No—Lucy needed a night off, one single night to let off all of the steam from work over a couple fruity drinks and pub food. Levy had arranged this night with Lucy nearly two months in advance—it was the first night Lucy had free from work—determined to get her best friend to lighten up, if only for a few hours.

It was a good idea, Lucy had thought. She _had_ been overworked lately. She _did_ need a break. But it wasn't easy for her to stop working; she absolutely adored her job. It was the job of her dreams, what she'd thought about as a child when she was bored. Journalism.

It was a rough industry to crack. You had to work hard, know the right people, make connections….all while constantly writing stories and blurbs at a consistently high quality output. It wasn't an easy job, but it _was_ the perfect job for Lucy. She spent her mornings, afternoons, and evenings putting her entire heart and soul into her work. It kept her up at night, woke her up early. It was her entire world.

But one night off…it sounded nice. She could take one break and dive right into it. Hell, maybe she'd encounter something worthy of a story.

A girl's night.

A great idea. But Levy's execution was terrible.

Levy forgot. That's the trouble of booking one night two months in advance—you don't remember. She'd completely lapsed the memory that tonight was the night of their get together, and accidentally agreed to take the night shift at work.

She remembered eventually, but what was done was done.

Lucy let out a disappointed sigh, reading the apologetic text on her phone from Levy. "Working, huh?" Lucy murmured to herself, shaking her head. She glanced to her mirror, her eyes tracing over the outfit she'd chosen. Short, tight skirt and sky-high heels—she'd been planning to let loose tonight. Oh well. "Ironic."

She sighed again, thinking over her two options: take her dress and heels off, change into her pajamas and read a book in bed _or_ go out anyways, have a good time, and let off some steam.

As much as she adored her job, Lucy had to admit that the constant work _was_ taking a toll on her. She was getting stressed—too stressed—and eventually, something would have to break. Really, she _needed_ this night out. For her health.

She grinned to herself as she walked to her door, high heels clicking on the wood floors.

A night out alone wasn't as fun as Lucy had initially thought.

She'd gone to the most popular club in the city; the line was long but the bouncer saw her walking by and allowed her to cut in. She'd gone inside, expecting to have an amazing night, but instead found herself rather uncomfortable.

The music was loud, the lights would range from blinding her to being practically nonexistent. People were dancing too close to her, crowding her, making her claustrophobic. Not quite finding the release she'd been searching for, she made her way to the bar; it took fifteen minutes for the bartender to notice her amongst the extremely large crowd, and the drink made for her tasted awful.

She left rather quickly.

 _Maybe this would be a good article_ , Lucy thought to herself as she made her way down the dark street, away from the club, _Fiore's most overrated night out._

Lucy walked for god knows how long, putting off the task of going home. Because going home now meant admitting defeat—having a lame night off, putting on pyjamas, reading some cheesy book Levy had leant her. She pressed on, craving something _more_ from tonight—although, she wasn't sure what it was she was after.

After nearly forty minutes of wandering the streets of Crocus, it began to rain. Fat droplets fell from the skies, assaulting Lucy and her rather skimpy outfit; she hissed, swearing under her breath as she glanced around for anywhere to hide.

Her eyes landed on a small bar across the street. From the outside, the interior lights were a soft glow; music could be heard through the door. Lucy shook her head, figuring it was better than freezing to death in the rain. Besides, she wasn't exactly in the greatest part of town—it might be better to sit in a bar and order a cab.

The second Lucy entered the bar, she regretted it. She swung the door open and stepped in, and immediately all of the bar patrons turned and looked at her. The entire bar fell quiet, every eye on her.

Normally, she would've blushed. She would've been flattered. But these weren't regular bar patrons turning to look at her for her beauty; these were large men with tattoos under their eyes, shocked that anyone had dared to enter their space.

Lucy swallowed, feeling unsafe. A large group of men entered behind her, slowly pushing her into the building and further away from the door. Big men with arms covered in tattoos glared at her as she stumbled past. Lucy pressed forward, wondering why the hell she ever decided to wear such a short skirt. Desperate, she made her way over to the bar in the hopes that the bartender might bring her some solace.

Unfortunately, he did not. He looked just like the bar patrons: big, angry, tattoos. Except the bartender had a very noticeable scar on his neck—what appeared to be a healed over stab wound. Lucy shrunk into the bar stool.

The bartender spoke to her, his voice deep. "You're lost, little lady."

Lucy cowered in her seat, fully aware of what the bartender was implicating. _You don't belong here. You aren't safe here. You shouldn't have come here_. She turned to look towards the door, desperate for an escape from the looming danger within the bar; however, several large men by the door gave her dark looks, implying they wouldn't let her past.

Lucy noticed every person in the bar had an extremely familiar tattoo on them—one that affiliated them with a local gang. Lucy had written several articles on the gang action in Crocus, and she instantly recognized the symbol.

 _The shadows_.

There were two gangs in Crocus that were becoming quite troubling for the people, and the shadows were one of them.

"Oh god," Lucy whispered to herself. "I'm going to die here."

But before the men could take a step towards her, the entire bar's attention was diverted elsewhere; the doors swung open and a different group of men walked in. Something about their presence altered the behavior of every single person in the bar. Suddenly these burly, bearded men were standing and cowering away, careful to diver their eyes and shut their mouths around the new guests.

This group of men was different looking—their tattoos weren't the same as the rest of the men in the bar. No, this group had tattoos indicating that they were affiliated with the shadows' main rival, the other strongest gang in Fiore— _the brotherhood_. A few of the individuals matched the aesthetic of the rest of the bar patrons—burly, tattooed, angry—but there were two specific men that seemed incredibly _different_ than the rest.

One of them had long black hair and was covered in piercings. Although he was also fairly large, he had a different expression on his face. Rather than appearing disgruntled like the others, he had a fierce grin on his lips. He sauntered in with his crew, dark eyes darting around the room, looking for something specific.

The other man that stood out was beside him. His hair was bright pink messy spikes. His expression was twisted into a bored look; he seemed annoyed that he was there. Still, his eyes searched the room, seemingly looking for the same thing as the guy with the piercings.

Both of the men were much younger than everyone else. While the average age of the men in the room was around forty, these young men appeared closer to Lucy's age. Twenty two, _maybe_.

The bar fell dead quiet; there wasn't a single whisper within the place.

Lucy was shivering with fear.

After several seconds of quiet, the pink haired boy spoke up. "Drazen," He spat, voice flat. "We're here for Drazen."

More silence. The bar-goers didn't seem sure of what to do; they each glanced around at each other, not speaking.

The pink haired boy rolled his eyes. "Drazen—or you're all dead."

Someone in the far back cleared their throat. "He's right here!"

The boy with the piercings grinned; the group moved towards the back, where the voice came from. In doing so, they were getting closer to Lucy's bar stool.

The group stopped in front of a table; the table cleared, revealing one single man left behind. He was absolutely shivering with fear; sweat was dripping down his forehead, running off of his nose and splattering on his stained jeans.

"That's a nice tattoo," The pink haired boy murmured, taking a seat across from the man, eyeing the shadows tattoo on his arm. "I remember you having a different one not long ago."

The man's voice was shaky, quivering. "I paid my sentence!" He sputtered. "I left the brotherhood!"

The pink haired boy cocked his head to the side. "You don't _leave_ the brotherhood."

"I—I—I did my time, I did everything he asked of me—I just want to be left in peace!"

The boy with the piercings spat out a chuckle. "You asked for retirement—which he _happily_ allowed. And then we hear you runnin' off, joining the _shadows?_ " He shook his head. "That's cold, man."

The man, Drazen, began to shake harder. "Please—you've got to believe me—they lent me money, that's it! I needed the money!"

The pink haired boy didn't seem impressed. "You know he won't care," He muttered, grabbing Drazen's beer and chugging it back. "You're a traitor, now."

"Please—no!"

The pink haired boy finished off the beer and set it down on the table. "The brotherhood can't risk a traitor."

Drazen's eyes were wild. "Please, kid, you've got to understand, _please_ —"

The pink haired boy leaned over the table, whispering in the man's ear; it was so quiet that Lucy could just barely hear what he'd said.

"Goodbye."

Before Lucy could question what the pink haired boy's words meant, he was moving; he brought his arm forward, almost as if he were going to rest his hand on Drazen's shoulder. Except, he didn't. And then, the entire room fell into chaos.

Everyone was moving, all at once. Every person in the bar, even the bartender, was lunging forward, weapons ready. Knives, forks, any utensil that could be used to wound was held in their palms, going towards the group from the brotherhood.

Lucy let out a shriek, realizing what had just happened. The pink haired boy had sunk a knife deep into the chest of the man at the table without even flinching.

The pink haired boy turned back to face the wrath of the shadows, leaving the man at the table with a knife to the heart; he reached quickly into his pocket, pulling a pistol. The rest of his group moved to action, too; they began to hit, stab, kill the shadows that came at them. The pink haired boy locked his jaw, turning the pistol onto anyone that came near him. One by one, each man that had been at the bar—a member of the shadows—was brought down. Bodies piled around the group from the brotherhood, blood beginning to pool on the uneven wooden floor.

Lucy didn't realize she was screaming until all of the men turned their attention to her. She was on the floor now, huddled between the bar stool and the bar, hands over her head. Her ears were ringing from the gunshots, her head spinning from the incredible amount of death she'd just witnessed. Her stomach was flopping. Blood from a nearby body began to trickle towards her.

"Shut that bitch up," One of the men spat, nodding at Lucy on the ground.

She hadn't intended to scream—it had just happened. And she couldn't stop. Shock coursed through her veins, taking away any control she had over herself. She was shaking, eyes wide at the blood on the floor, screeching.

There was a sigh. "I got it."

Before she knew it, there was a body beside hers. Someone kneeling down beside her, a hand hesitantly touching her elbow. "Hey," the voice said, but it was far away and hard for her to hear. She felt faint, but she was aware enough to flinch away from the stranger's hand. "Breathe. It's okay."

Lucy took a breath like the voice advised. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath this entire time. She turned, big brown eyes wide, peering up at the person beside her. To her absolute horror, it was the pink haired boy. His head was cocked to the side and his face was messed up into a confused frown, no hint of shock or guilt for murdering dozens of men apparent on his face.

Looking at him made her stomach twist, and before she knew it she was vomiting on the floor.

The boy patted her back awkwardly as she puked. He tugged a few blonde strands of hair out of her face, ensuring they didn't get caught in the mess.

Once Lucy had emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor and was again aware of what was going on, she smacked his hand away; she pushed away from him, falling onto her ass. She scooted back as far as she could, her back crashing into the next stool over. She was panting, stomach and chest aching, big brown eyes looking at the boy, horrified.

"Aw, come on. I'm trying to help."

"Get away from me!" Lucy cried, fear beginning to build back up in her veins. "Help! Help—someone, please!" She screamed, her voice smashing through the dead silence in the bar.

One of the other men gave the pink haired boy a sharp glance. "Kid— _shut her up_."

The boy seemed annoyed. "Yeah, yeah. It's fine." His dark eyes turned back to Lucy. "You're okay—okay?"

"Help!" Lucy cried, eyes wild. "Help, please!"

There was no logic in her actions. She cried for help, begged for someone to take her away from these murderers—but they'd killed everyone in the building. And if anyone heard her from outside, they'd kill them too.

They were probably going to kill her, too.

She screamed louder.

The pink haired boy sighed. He glanced up, giving a look to the boy with the piercings. "Gajeel?" He called, then nodded down to the blonde. "To the bridge."

Lucy heart froze, knowing what that meant. This was the end—this was how she died. Gang members tossing her body into the freezing river. She screamed louder and louder, fighting the black haired boy off when he tried to pick her up. She kicked and she bit and she punched when he got close, but it wasn't enough to keep him away; he was stronger than her and overwhelmed her easily. Eventually he got annoyed with her and just grabbed her waist, hauling her over his shoulders. She kicked and screamed and fought, but it didn't seem to affect him.

He tossed her into the back of a car. She looked out the windows, screaming for help; the windows were blacked out so much that she couldn't see.

Before she had the chance to squeeze her way out and escape, the pink haired boy had a handcuff around her wrist, tying her to the seat.

"Please," Lucy cried, tears streaming down her red cheeks. Her voice was hoarse from screaming so much. "Please don't kill me."

The pink haired boy laughed, and then closed the door.


	2. A Stranger's Bed

Lucy wasn't exactly sure when she'd fallen asleep, but she awoke with a headache.

She opened her eyes and flinched, pain stabbing through her skull; she rubbed her forehead, letting out an audible groan. It took her a few moments to gather herself enough to look at her surroundings.

A room. She was laid on top of a bed; the sheets were grey and the duvet was navy blue. The walls were a plain cream color. In the corner, there was a laundry basket with a few pieces of clothing tossed into it. A closet to the right of the bed, but the door was closed. The room overall was extremely plain and not terribly large.

Lucy swallowed; her throat burnt like she'd been sipping bad whisky. Her hand flew up and rubbed her throat, trying to soothe it. She let out a shaky breath as the achiness in her body became apparent. She peered down at herself. She was still in her skirt and heels.

A moment of fear flickered through her as her mind played over the previous couple hours, before she'd fallen asleep. The bar, the fight, the brutality…and then being thrown into the car. About to be taken to the bridge, driving towards death by the two men from the brotherhood. But…she wasn't dead. She was here, in a bed, aching and wearing a short skirt.

Lucy swallowed, fearing the worst. Maybe those men had changed their minds momentarily, thought of a better purpose for Lucy. Maybe that's why she was so sore, why her throat hurt so much, why she felt like her brain was going to burst. Maybe they'd drugged her, and…

She closed her eyes, not finishing her thought. The idea of it made her sick. To think that they would do that, to think they'd drug her and… _rape_ her…it was horrifying. But then again, she'd witnessed these two men shoot down and stab roughly thirty people last night without even blinking. They were gangsters, part of Fiore's mob. They were bad people. Of course they would rape.

The word made her stomach turn, and before Lucy knew it, she was leaning over the bed and vomiting on the floor.

She felt awful, like a train had hit her. Getting sick hadn't helped—in fact, her throat ached more now, craving a glass of water. But she didn't know where she was, didn't know who she would face when she left the safety of the bed, so she stayed put.

Lucy didn't know how long she was there for—her purse and phone weren't in the room with her. She laid on bed and tried not to be sick again. She tried to think of how to escape, but she didn't think she had the strength; her body wasn't in good enough shape for her to make a run for it. Besides, these were _mobsters_ —if they could take on thirty men without a second thought, they'd kill her instantly. She was lucky they'd spared her this long.

What had they done to her last night? Why was she so sore? Why did her head feel like it was splitting in two?

She would've cried, but the effort made her headache spread. She put her head in her hands and cursed girl's nights. From now on—if she ever escaped—she would never go on a girl's night again. Pyjamas in bed with a book was her go-to, now.

She must've laid there for an hour before the thirst became too much to bear. One hour of absolute torture—her head hurt, her throat ached, her entire body throbbed. She tried not to think of what those mobsters did to her, tried not to face the reality of her situation. She wasn't ready for it, not yet. But the thirst was all she could think about, and suddenly, she felt herself stumbling towards the door. She was so desperate for a drink that she didn't care what was beyond this little doorway—mobsters, murderers…it didn't matter. She needed something to drink.

So, Lucy swung the door open, preparing for the worst.

Instead, she found herself in a hallway. It was plain, just like the room. Neutral colors on the walls with wooden floors leading towards the rest of the building. There were a few photos on the walls, one with men smiling and laughing. Lucy frowned, rubbing her throat as she dizzily made her way down the hallway.

One photo caught her eye. It was a shot of a large group, of what had to be nearly one hundred people. The group was made up of men that looked like the bar-goers from the night before: large, tattooed men with nicks, scrapes and bruises painting their bodies. On several of the men near the front, knives and pistols could be seen holstered to their hips.

One man stood in the centre of the large group, a broad grin spread across his lips. Lucy recognized him instantly, remembering her research into Crocus' mobs. This man, of course, was the most dangerous man in Fiore. The leader of the brotherhood. He was known for his ruthlessness, his cold hearted ways, his icy brutality. He would kill a man—one of his own men, in some cases—without considering other options. He was absolute danger.

Igneel.

Lucy had researched him thoroughly while covering her blurbs on the brotherhood, tried to dig up his past—but as far as public knowledge went, he didn't have one. One day he wasn't there, and one day he was. All that is known about him was that he rose through the ranks of the brotherhood quickly—far more quickly than anyone else ever had—and now he was their brutal, calculated leader.

The only thing the public seemed to know about Igneel was how absolutely brutal he could be. One story about him discussed how he'd murdered his own beloved wife due to whispers that she may be a traitor. _His own wife_ , without a second thought.

Lucy shivered.

But here he was, smiling and beaming in this photo, his arms thrown over the men beside him like they were best pals. He didn't look like a ruthless killer here. He didn't look like he could harm a fly, let alone murder his own wife.

Lucy shook her head. _Just because he doesn't look like a mobster doesn't mean he isn't one—remember the two from last night?_

The thought of last night made her stomach churn. That group from the brotherhood had completely slaughtered the members from the shadows without straining whatsoever. That pink haired boy had killed twenty, twenty five men without blinking.

She tore her eyes from the picture frame, forcing herself to focus. She had to remember what was going on. She'd been taken by members of the brotherhood last night after witnessing them murder a large group from a rival gang. She'd been taken hostage, thrown into a car. She'd awoken, bruised and sore and in pain, with no memory of what had happened.

These were bad men. She couldn't forget that.

She continued down the hallway, every bone in her body aching. She was in rough shape; her head had never hurt so badly. She crept slowly, quietly, fearing that she might run into a mobster at any moment. The hallway split before her, opening up on her left to a room; to the right, the hallway continued. Lucy slowed her pace, praying to any god willing to listen that there was no one in the room. If there was, she'd be caught instantly.

Caught, and then murdered.

Lucy gasped in a breath as silently as possible, holding it in her chest as she slowly creeped by the room. She closed one eye, her expression twisting up into a grimace as she slithered by the room. She peeked in, her one open eye scanning the place.

The room was empty, just like the hallway.

The room was decorated nicely. There was a comfy looking sofa against the far wall, with ferns on either side of it; there were pictures on the walls, showing more goofy smiles on gangster's faces. In the middle of the room was a desk with papers scattered over top of it.

Figuring ducking into this room to catch her breath was better than running into a gangster in the hallway, Lucy slipped into the room, careful to scan for bodies one more time. Once she was satisfied that she was alone in this room, she let out her breath, sighing heavily.

Her throat burnt, her entire body ached. She was dead tired, the pain exhausting her. She needed to go home, to soak in her tub. She needed to see Levy, tell her she was okay. She needed to feel safe again.

But here she was—snooping through what appeared to be the home of a member of the brotherhood. She made her way to the desk, eyes flickering over the pages coating its face.

To Lucy's surprise, it wasn't papers coating the desk—it was pictures. Pictures of men with sloppy writing beneath them. She recognized a few of them: they were all members of the shadows. The men Lucy recognized were the higher ranking members of the shadows, ones she'd happened to read about in her research on the gang. The sprawl beneath each photo was unintelligible, but she had a feeling she already knew what the pictures meant.

To the right, a photo of the man from last night. Drazen, the one they'd been after. Beneath it, the words "traitor" and "rat" were legible.

Lucy swallowed, firmly reminded yet again what she was dealing with.

It was their hit list. The people they intended to murder. Drazen had been killed because he was a suspected rat to the shadows; she remembered the pink haired boy mentioning him having a different tattoo not so long ago. It appears Drazen had swapped gangs, gone from the brotherhood to the shadows. Apparently, that wasn't allowed.

Shivers of fear rushing through her veins, Lucy pried open the doors of the desk, searching for something— _anything_ —to use to protect herself. Pens, pencils…nothing useful. With an annoyed grunt, Lucy pulled open the last drawer, surprised to find a small pocket knife.

Perfect. That's all she needed.

Lucy grabbed the pocket knife, clinging to it for dear life, before she made her way back to the hallway. If she were to escape, she'd need a weapon—this tiny knife would have to do.

Lucy turned out, continuing down the hallway, sucking in another breath. She could hear the distant sound of muffled voices; her heart nearly stopped, but she pressed forward, keeping an eye out for an exit.

The further she went down the hallway, the closer the voices got; she was nearing towards them, now. She leaned against the wall, closing her eyes as she tried to focus on the conversation.

"No, you idiot," A deep voice grumbled, annoyed. "Why don't you just use a knife?"

"Because knives are wimpy."

"Better than a sledgehammer," The first voice scoffed back.

"Not a chance!" The second voice spat. "Sledgehammers are sexy, useful, and can bash a head in with one swift motion. Knives are wimpy—you've got to stab a guy like four times before they finally die."

Lucy's entire body began to shake. The way they were so casually discussing murder, the way they were debating their murder weapons—it made her sick. These gangsters…they were horrific people. They killed without shedding a tear, without breaking a sweat. They were the worst of the worst.

She supposed _this_ was why the brotherhood was the most dangerous gang in Fiore. Because they didn't care about human life.

She wanted to run away, to go the opposite direction—but this was the only way out. This was the end of the hallway. If there were an exit, it would be beyond this room where two men discussed _murder weapons_. At the other end of the hallway, the bedroom she'd escaped from. There were rooms in between, but all had been dead-ends. This was the only way to escape.

And in any other circumstance, she would've turned back. She would've gone back to the room she awoke in and prayed someone would find her someday. But she was too tired, too hurt, too damn thirsty to turn back. She needed food, she needed some water, and she needed to go home. She was practically delirious. It pushed her forwards.

Without another thought, Lucy stepped around the corner, knuckles white as she gripped the pocket knife. She aimed the blade forwards, toward the two voices, her eyes wide and wild. She prepared herself for an attack, for an onslaught of gangsters with knives and guns—but nothing came.

Lucy was surprised at the scene before her.

She didn't really know what she'd been expecting—two gangsters over a dead body, perhaps—but it certainly wasn't this.

It was the two boys from the night before. The two boys who had entered the bar and murdered everyone. The one with the piercings and the one with the pink hair. Except this time, there was no trace of weapons or blood or murder.

They were playing a video game.

The two boys were sprawled across the couch, Xbox contollers in hand. They were dressed plainly, in more comfortable attire than they had been the previous night: sweats and pullover sweatshirts, complete with comfortable looking socks.

Lucy's eyes were still wild—she was desperate. She stabbed the knife forward, despite the boys being halfway across the room. "Where am I?" She spat. "Who are you?"

The boys turned their gazes from their videogame to Lucy, blinking at her. Their expressions were blank for a split second before they seemed to understand what was before them.

After a long moment, the pierced boy burst into laughter. He dropped his controller and held his stomach as he laughed, snorting. The pink haired boy's expression stayed blank; he looked at Lucy, then the boy beside him, and then back to Lucy.

The pierced boy sputtered out words in between chuckles. "Good morning to _you_ , sunshine."

Lucy's jaw locked. Her grip on the knife tightened. "Get me out of here," She spat. Her voice was hoarse; she flinched as she spoke.

The pink haired boy glanced at her, reading her expression; for a split second, it almost looked like he was about to smirk at her. But his gaze drifted down to her hands, to the pocket knife gripped tightly in her fingers, and his gaze went cold.

"Where did you get that?" He asked, tone frosty.

Lucy ignored him. She didn't have time for stupid questions—she needed to leave. "Tell me how to get out of here," She urged, jolting the knife forward again to express her point.

The black haired boy with the piercings looked at the pink haired boy, noting his harsh expression; he peered back to Lucy, eyeing the knife in her hands. "Uh oh," He muttered, laughter coming to an abrupt stop. "Now you've done it."

The pink haired boy was standing in an instant, and at Lucy's side nearly as quickly. He was faster than she'd expected, and she jumped when she realized he was directly beside her. Fear and anger rushing through her veins, she pushed her arm forwards, thrusting the knife towards the boy's stomach.

She didn't know what she really intended to do—harm him? Kill him? Maybe. But he was a gangster and she was in danger and she was afraid, and her instincts took over.

It was a perfect shot. The knife should've sunk directly into his stomach, broke his flesh easily.

But the boy was faster. His hand snapped out and grabbed Lucy's wrist, twisting it gently and pulling the knife from her hands with ease. His eyes never left hers; he didn't even glance down at the knife once.

Lucy blinked, heart hammering in her chest, fear buzzing in her veins. He'd taken her only weapon away with such minimal effort. She swallowed. She was in deep trouble.

The pink haired boy spoke. His voice was deep and cold. "Don't _ever_ touch this knife again."

She began to shake. "I'm sorry." Her voice was barely audible.

His eyes met hers; Lucy saw anger, fury behind his gaze. It scared her.

"Gajeel," The pink haired boy muttered, turning to look over his shoulder at the other boy. "Tell him she's awake."

The pierced boy hopped up from his seat on the couch. "'Kay." He made his way to a doorway on the other side of the room—the exit Lucy had been searching for—but stopped before he left the room. "Play nice, Natsu."

Lucy looked at the pierced boy—Gajeel—leave, the anxiety rising in her throat. Out of the two boys, he seemed the most…human, at least. A brutal murderer as she'd seen the night before, but at least he'd smile at you before he killed you. This pink haired boy—Natsu, the other boy had called him—was much scarier. He was smaller, sure, but there was such a spark of fury behind his eyes.

Lucy felt her emotions rise, felt the hopelessness of the situation wash over her. The soreness in her bones throbbed; she felt tears well up, felt the sobs rise against her throat. Her big brown eyes flickered to the pink haired boy, tears becoming visible in them. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" She whispered, voice cracking.

The pink haired boy's eyes searched her face for a long few seconds. "Not yet." He flicked the knife shut, shoving it in the pocket of his sweatpants.

Lucy closed her eyes, his words finalizing what she'd been speculating. She _was_ going to die here—they were going to kill her. They had no reason to keep her alive, after all, and she'd witnessed something that couldn't be seen. She'd watched them murder members of the shadows, watched the brotherhood basically start a war. She'd seen something she shouldn't have. She'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"How much did you see last night?" He asked, looking directly into her eyes.

Lucy swallowed. Was it better to lie, or tell the truth? Would he kill her on the spot if he knew the extent of what she'd seen? Or was this simply a test? Either way, they both knew the truth. She'd been screaming on the floor for nearly twenty minutes afterwards. She couldn't get away with saying she'd missed most of it.

Her voice was a shaky whisper. "All of it."

It wasn't a lie. She'd seen every single part of the fight. She'd seen the men fly at the group from the brotherhood; she'd seen this tiny group of people easily battle these huge, burly men. She'd seen this small, pink haired boy slice and dice his way through shadows, putting a bullet in one man's head while throwing a knife directly into the heart of the bartender. She'd seen him kill with ease. She'd seen the smile on his face as he did it.

The boy nodded, accepting her answer. "Ah."

Tears slipped out of her eyes, rolling down her cheek. "Can I go home?"

He shook his head. "Can't. Sorry."

"Why not?"

His dark eyes flickered to hers; there was something behind them that she couldn't read. "Either you stay—or you die."

"But—"

He cut her off, ignoring her pleas. "Sit. I've got to go talk to someone."

Lucy stood, unmoving, wet eyes staring at the boy.

He rolled his eyes, sighing by her lack of cooperation. His big hands planted on her shoulders; he ushered her to the couch, plopping her down in the seat he'd been sitting in. He handed her the xbox controller, figuring it might distract her. She set it down instantly and peered back up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, now.

Her big, tear-filled brown eyes seemed to bother him; he diverted his gaze quickly. He shuffled in spot. "I'll be right back."

He made his way to the doorway, but hesitated; he turned to look at the girl. "I wouldn't try and run away, if I were you." His jaw tightened. "You won't make it out alive."

Lucy shivered at his words, blinking as she watched him disappear around the corner.

Once he left, she burst into tears.

This was where she was going to die.


	3. Gajeel

"Hello?" The black haired boy said, waving his hands in front of Lucy's face. "You alive in there?"

Lucy blinked, flinching back away from the pierced boy; her hands instantly gripped the couch, knuckles going white. She'd been deep in thought before he'd interrupted her—she'd been thinking about her home, her life, Levy. She'd been thinking about how she was going to lose all of that. Everything that made her happy…gone. Every opportunity she'd been striving for, gone. All of it. All because she'd wandered into the wrong bar at the exact wrong time. She was such an idiot.

The blonde held her breath, brown eyes wide as she stared at the gangster before her. He was big, appearing much larger close up. This close, it was easy to see the detailing in his piercings, the way they had been perfectly placed in his flesh. He had some tattoos, too—his brotherhood tattoo was visible on his shoulder and he had another few placed along his neck and hands.

Overall, he was terrifying. The men at the bar last night had been scary, sure, but this guy was something else. Everything about him screamed absolute danger. He was the kind of guy that, if you were walking on the sidewalk and saw him coming towards you, you'd deliberately cross the street to avoid.

His sharp features twisted into a smirk, one very similar to what he wore as he'd sliced and diced through dozens of men the night before. It was almost like he _knew_ he was intimidating her—and it made him happy. "Geez, lady, I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes."

Lucy's knuckles were still white. Her heart hammered in her chest. She looked over his shoulder at the door, her flight instinct cutting in sharply.

He noticed where she was glancing; he shook his head, chuckling. "You really want to attempt that?"

Lucy's eyes flickered back to him. Every ounce of hope in her body was soon replaced with panic. He was right—there was no point in even trying. She'd seen him in action last night. He was fast—faster than she could ever hope to be. She'd never make it past him. And if she did happen to slip by, he would catch her, and then kill her. Her breathing began to pick up, shallow and fast; her chest felt like it was closing in.

The boy's eyebrows pulled down, confused by her sudden audible breathing. "Woah— _woah_. You havin' a panic attack or something?" His big hands came up in the air, waving anxiously, like he didn't know what to do. "Just relax. I'm not gonna hurt you."

 _Yeah right_. Lucy wasn't stupid. She knew she wasn't making it out of here alive—after all, that's what the pink haired boy had said. They were keeping her because…well, she didn't really know why. Maybe prolonging her death so they could use her body again? So they could beat her and rape her one more time before they ended her?

Her hyperventilating increased, the fact that she couldn't remember the night before adding to her panic. She was sore and achy, nearly positive that she'd been raped or taken advantage of in her sleep; her head hurt, like her brain was cut into pieces. She was breathing so hard she began to see spots, began to get dizzy. She gripped the couch harder.

The black haired boy sounded worried. "Hey, hey, hey—listen, lady, just relax, just breathe, I'm not gonna hurt you!"

"Yes you will," Lucy sputtered. She had wanted the words to spit out, full of venom, but they'd fallen flat; her words were shaky and broken and afraid, a reflection of her state. "You will."

His eyes narrowed. "Why do you think that?"

Lucy's words were breathy and spaced out between her gasps. "You're—the— _brotherhood_." She paused. "I know you'll kill me."

The black haired boy crossed his arms, eyebrows tugging down. "I think you've severely misread the situation."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her face twisting into a frown. Her breath hitched, and then slowed slightly. "What?"

"If we wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already." He scratched the back of his neck, shaking his head.

Lucy blinked. "Then, why…haven't you?"

He looked at her like she was an idiot. "Because we aren't going to kill you."

"That other boy," Lucy stumbled over her own words, "He said he wasn't going to kill me _yet_."

The black haired boy rolled his eyes. "Ah—he's messing with you."

"But," Lucy mumbled, blinking far too many times than necessary, "But that makes no sense."

"Jesus," He whispered under his breath, eyes flashing up to meet hers. "Are you trying to _convince_ me to kill you?"

"No," Lucy stammered out quickly, shaking her head. "No, no—no, please. I just…I want to know why."

The boy leaned back. "Your guess is as good as mine." He let out a sigh. "Natsu just felt generous, I guess."

Lucy's heart was still beating hard against her ribs, her hands still gripping the couch. Sure, he had made it very clear that he wasn't going to harm her—but she still couldn't seem to believe him. Maybe it was a tactic used by the brotherhood—to lie, to comfort your enemy before murdering them. After all, they _were_ the most evil group in Fiore. They had to have that title for a reason.

"Natsu?" She questioned, sliding herself away from the black haired boy slightly. The way he was towering over her made her feel panicky. "Whose that?"

The black haired boy hesitated for a moment. "Oh, uh. Natsu." He paused. "That pink haired guy. But he doesn't go by Natsu—he goes by Salamander."

"Salamander."

The boy shrugged. "If you've done something noteworthy in the brotherhood, you get a nickname based off of it."

"So, what did he do?"

The black haired boy grinned at her curiosity. "I can't tell you that! Classified gang secrets. Sorry kid."

"So," Lucy began, her mind taking notes of every piece of information. This was stuff she hadn't heard about in her research on the gang; she'd never known nicknames were given to people. Her internal journalist couldn't help but ask for more information. "Why doesn't he go by Natsu?"

The black haired boy shrugged. "Around here…you just don't. Once you've earned a nickname, that's it. Only specific people call you by your real name—like your mom, or sister."

"But you call him Natsu," Lucy pointed out. She vaguely remembered hearing that name once or twice. "Not Salamander."

The boy grinned. "That's because I'm his best friend!" There was a spark of genuine happiness in his eyes. "We grew up together. There's no way after all of _that_ I'm calling him _Salamander_."

"I didn't know you could have friends in a gang."

"It's called the _brotherhood_." He laughed. "You think we're all just acquaintances? Nah—this is family."

Lucy thought back to last night, to how they had come into the bar looking for a man called Drazen. She thought about how he had a shadows tattoo, but the pink haired boy—Natsu, Salamander—had made it clear that he used to be with the brotherhood. She thought about how Natsu had slaughtered Drazen, with a swift stab of a knife to the heart.

 _Family, huh?_ Yeah right.

The black haired boy stuck his right hand out to Lucy; she instantly jumped away in fear. He laughed at her response, keeping his hand there, not offended by her fear in the slightest. "I'm Gajeel, by the way."

Lucy glared at him, then took a few seconds to glare at his hand. There were scars all over his fingers, palm and wrist; he'd clearly seen some violent action before. She turned to look at him again, trying to read the expression in his eyes.

There didn't seem to be anything sinister.

Figuring it was probably best to comply with the gangster, Lucy stuck a shaky hand out; she grabbed his hand and shook it. Her little hand was dainty in comparison to his meaty paw.

"Lucy," She squeaked.

Gajeel seemed impressed by her bravery—after all, it wasn't like many young ladies were willing to shake his hand. Once they'd shook hands, he pulled his hand back, giving her space. "Well, Lucy. You'd probably like a shower, wouldn't you?"

She had to admit, the concept was intriguing. She felt so sore, so achy and gross—a nice hot shower was exactly what she needed. She was about to accept, but then she realized where she was—sitting on a couch with a murdering gangster. Lucy hesitated, remembering how she'd woken up sore and battered, fear seeping into her eyes. Was this another attempt at taking advantage of her? "A shower…alone?"

Gajeel gave her a blank look, not quite understanding what she was insinuating. "Uh, yes?"

Lucy blinked. "Oh. Okay."

He narrowed his eyes, looking at her like she was an absolute idiot. He didn't understand. "C'mon, then."

Lucy stood and followed him; they wandered through the house, entering and leaving several corridors and rooms until they arrived at their destination. As they made their way through the place, they passed a few people; mostly scary looking men who gave Lucy dark looks. But Gajeel didn't seem phased, and he continued to lead Lucy through the house until they arrived at a bathroom.

He stopped at the doorway. "Take as long as you need. I'll be down the hall, in the kitchen. Come find me when you're ready. Sound good?"

Lucy nodded up at him. He gave her a quick smile before turning and leaving her to her own devices.

 _Strange_ , Lucy thought. _How normal he seems_.

But he wasn't normal. That friendly boy was a killer—she'd seen it. He wasn't pleasant, he wasn't kind. She was being held hostage by Fiore's most deadly gang. He was bad.

Lucy turned, flicking on the bathroom light, facing the bathroom before her. She let out a shaky breath and turned to the mirror; once she saw herself, she gasped.

Her hair was a mess and her makeup was smeared all over her face and dried blood was seeping down from her forehead, caked into her pores. She gasped, touching the top of her head, wincing when her wound ached in pain; she blinked, shocked by how much blood was glued to her hair, her forehead, her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and swollen, like she'd been hit; there were bruises covering the right side of her face.

It was another reminder of what they'd done to her. Had they hit her head to knock her out, rather than drug her? Had they beaten her until she'd passed out, and proceeded to do whatever they wanted with her?

That Gajeel…he seemed so pleasant. But he'd been the one to throw her in the car. He'd been a part of this.

 _Not hurt me my ass_ , Lucy hissed to herself.

She stripped quickly, searching the rest of her body for wounds. She was bruised all over—patches of blue and green and yellow bruises over her right side. Lucy sucked in a shaky breath, trying not to cry—crying hurt too much.

She got in the shower and let the hot water hit her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, letting every emotion hit her like a tsunami.

Lucy washed her hair, tried to get the clumps of blood out of it without touching the wound too much. She washed her skin, touched her bruises delicately, wincing as she did so; she bit her lip, trying not to cry from the pain and the fear rushing through her. She stayed in there longer than she should've, had the water hotter than she should've. But she didn't want to get out. She didn't want to face what was beyond this.

But still, she got out eventually. She dried herself off and turned to her pile of dirty clothes, only now noticing the amount of dried blood on her dress. Lucy looked at her heels and felt her feet ache at the sight of them. With a sigh, she wrapped the towel around her body, refusing to get back into a bloody dress and sky high heels.

She couldn't hide in the bathroom all day—she'd have to go out eventually, or they'd come looking for her. With a deep breath, Lucy opened the bathroom door, peeking out; the air from the hallway was icy cold against the moisture on her skin.

Pleased that there was no one in the hallway—the gangster glared at her before; she didn't want to think about what they'd do if they saw her in just a towel—she turned, making her way towards the kitchen where Gajeel advised her to go.

For a split second, Lucy thought about going the other direction—maybe she could find an exit, maybe she could escape. But, she was in a tiny little towel and soaking wet. Not to mention, her entire body was in rough shape, rougher than she'd expected. She couldn't walk without shaking, let alone make a break for it.

She continued down the hall, towards the kitchen, accepting defeat.

Before she saw the room, she could hear Gajeel's voice. It sounded like he was arguing, like he was annoyed; Lucy paused, holding her breath, listening in.

"You can't just keep her here forever," Gajeel protested, the annoyance in his tone incredibly clear. "She's gonna get in the way eventually."

"What am I supposed to do? Let her go free?" The other voice responded. Lucy quickly realized that it was Natsu—Salamander—having an argument with Gajeel. "You know I can't do that."

"Who cares?" Gajeel spat. "It's just a girl."

Lucy's heart stopped. Were they talking about her?

There was a pause, a moment of brief silence before Natsu spoke again. "I know that."

"You know he'll be mad about this, right?" Gajeel sighed. "A weak spot is a weak spot. He'll beat it out of you."

"Yeah," Salamander mumbled under his breath. "I know. I can't help it."

"Couldn't we just kill her ourselves—problem solved?"

Lucy's eyes went wide. Okay—they were definitely talking about her.

"Shut up, Gajeel."

Gajeel laughed. "Even after all these years, after he tried so hard to make you like him—you're still soft."

"I'm _not_ soft."

"You aren't," Gajeel said, and the smile was clear in his voice, "But sometimes you are."

Lucy couldn't stand this—being here, listening to them discuss her life like it was something small. She didn't like being talked about, didn't like hearing these gangsters discuss her like she was an object. Mostly, she didn't like one specific sentence Gajeel had said.

 _She's gonna get in the way eventually_.

In the way of what? And if she were so bothersome, why couldn't they let her go? Natsu didn't want to kill her, but he seemed rather against the idea of freeing her. It made no sense. Lucy couldn't wrap her head around it. She would have to investigate further when she had the chance.

"She's here," Salamandar said, voice suddenly dry. "In the hallway."

Lucy's froze, her heart stopping.

They'd caught her red-handed.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Thank you so much for reading! I hope you like the way this is going so far-I know it's taking quite a bit of build up in these first few chapters. I promise things will get more interesting as the story goes on. I also want to acknowledge that this far, Natsu hasn't quite been Natsu-like, but I promise that side of him will come out as more of the story unfolds. So don't worry, our sweet Natsu will arrive! Please comment, review, etc! Thank you!**


	4. Monster

Gajeel and Natsu looked at the girl, then to each other. Their eyes met for a split second, and then they gave each other a nod. They seemed to know each other well—well enough that they could communicate silently, quickly. A good skill to have in their line of work, Lucy supposed.

Gajeel ducked back into the kitchen, humming to himself as he followed whatever silent plan they'd concocted.

The pink haired boy turned to Lucy, something strange in his eyes. It was a mixture of fury and sedation, aggression and peace, anger and amusement. Lucy couldn't understand, couldn't read his expression. "This way," He said, tone dark, as he grabbed Lucy's wrists and pinned them to her back.

He was good at this; his motions were swift and efficient, easily incapacitating Lucy and pushing her forwards all at once. She wouldn't have even had the opportunity to slap his grip away—he was far too quick, far too agile. She hadn't even seen him coming.

She struggled against him, squeezing her arms tightly against her torso in order to keep the towel from falling. Why'd she have to eavesdrop in a _towel?_

Lucy swallowed, her heart pounding heavily in her chest. "Where are we going?"

"To talk."

Her breath was shaky. She'd seen far too many television shows about gangs—she knew they weren't much for talking. Was this it, then? Was this the end of the line? Would he take her to a small room and put a gun to her head?

Lucy's palms began to sweat as the boy shoved her forwards roughly, pushing her along through winding corridors and grand doorways. She was surprised by the size of the building they were in—it must be some kind of super mansion.

But he forced her to take a turn, and they entered an elevator; he pressed the B4 button and they went down several flights of stairs. Lucy felt her heartbeat thrum faster in the confines of the small space—here, there was nowhere to run from him. Still, despite this, he tightened his grip on her wrists, making Lucy grit her teeth.

The elevator doors opened, and it was as if they were in a completely different building. Gone were the cream walls with the decadent flooring; now, they were pushing past old, dim brick walls. The lighting was darker, the hallways were smaller, and the place smelled of dust and cigarette smoke.

The boy pushed her onwards, passing several closed doorways. As they passed, Lucy could hear the hum of noise beyond the doorways. One doorway masked the sound of metal upon metal, the sound of smashing and crashing weapons; another doorway muffled the sounds of cries and screaming. One doorway was absolutely silent, but the smell of toxic rot, of burning flesh, crept beneath it.

Lucy chest was tight. Her hands balled up tightly, her nails digging into her palms. Until this point, she hadn't really faced the reality of her situation—she'd just been sitting in some beautiful house. But now, it was real. Fear crept into her bones, settled in the pit of her stomach.

Suddenly, she was very aware of who she was dealing with.

Gajeel had been too nice, too full of conversation. He didn't _seem_ like a mobster, aside from his terrifying appearance. But down here—this was dirt and grime and blood, everything she'd expected from Fiore's most dangerous gang. A basement of questionable actions, of murder and torture and chaos.

The pink haired boy turned her, opening a door to their right and pushing Lucy through it; she stumbled in, glancing up once she realized he'd let go of her wrists and closed the door behind them.

A blank, empty room. The walls were white, the floors were a blank grey tile. In the middle of the room sat two chairs on either side of a metal table. On the left, a large mirror taking up the entire wall.

Lucy swallowed.

An interrogation room.

"Sit," He instructed, and Lucy did as she was told. He moved and sat on the opposite chair; he turned and looked at the girl, watched as her arms began to shake in fear. He watched as she gripped the seat below her, as her knuckles went white. He watched as sweat began to bead up at her hairline, on the back of her neck.

Minutes passed. He didn't seem worried.

Her breathing had picked up, becoming more shallow; her mouth went dry in fear.

"You're scared," He noted, after a long few moments of watching her.

Lucy blinked, stomach twisting when she heard his voice. "Y-Yes."

His head cocked to the side slightly. "Why?"

 _Why?_ Maybe because they'd just walked by rooms where she could hear people screaming, begging for their lives. Or maybe because this entire floor stunk like dead bodies and cigarettes. Or _maybe_ it was because she'd been abducted by a gang. Just a thought.

Of course, Lucy was far too afraid to say anything like that to him. "You're going to kill me."

That made the boy smirk; his lips twisted up at her words, a hint of warmth touching his eyes. "You think so?"

Lucy blinked back tears, her eyes becoming wet. Gajeel had said they wouldn't—and for a moment, she'd believed him. But here, with the pink haired boy, it felt different—she didn't feel safe at all. He could kill her at any moment, just like he did with that man at the bar. One shift of his arm, and she'd have a knife in her heart. "Yes."

The smirk wore slightly, his expression slowly descending into something else. Lucy couldn't read his emotions—anger? Sadness? Longing?

His voice was deeper, darker now. "I won't kill you."

"You won't?"

"No."

"Then," Lucy said, stuttering and stumbling over her words, "Can't I go home?"

His dark eyes flashed up to hers; something in them made Lucy flinch in fear. "No."

Her face twisted up in confusion, her eyebrows tugging downwards as her frown grew. "Why not?"

The pink haired boy tapped his fingers on the metal table, fiddling. "You just can't."

And while it didn't make sense initially, the logic slowly started to resonate with Lucy. She'd considered this before, when she'd awoken in that strange bed—the reason why they'd kept her. They wouldn't throw her away, wouldn't kill her, because her body was of use to them. She was something to play with, something to distract them. They would use her and abuse her and _touch_ her, just like they had last night, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Her body ached. Her joints were stiff. Her throat felt like it had been scorched, ripped to shreds. Lucy closed her eyes, trying not to think of what they did to her that night…

A few minutes as Lucy struggled with her emotions. She wasn't good at hiding them; they played out on her face like a film. Every single thought that flickered through her head was right there, written plain as day in her expression.

"Please don't," Lucy whispered, begging the man before her for mercy. " _Please_."

The boy frowned a little, but quickly suffocated the look of confusion on his face; his mask of absolute _blankness_ returned. "Don't _what_?"

She swallowed, the tears making her throat thick and heavy. Her eyes fell closed, a few stray tears squeezing out and running down her cheeks. "Please don't hurt me again."

There was a beat of silence before the boy responded.

"Again?"

Lucy's eyes flashed open; the boy was frowning at her, now. She dropped her gaze to her hands; she pulled the towel tighter around her body. "I know something happened last night." She tried to sound brave, but her voice broke and fell soft. "I'm not an idiot."

The boy crossed his arms. "Okay. And what do you think happened?"

Lucy felt heat rush through her veins, annoyed by his tone. Her brown eyes looked him dead in the eyes, a strange fierceness in them. She didn't like the way he spoke to her, the way he talked to her like she was a fool—she _knew_ what was going on here.

Waking up, sore and bruised, after being abducted by gangsters? How stupid did he think she was?

"I know you took advantage of me," She spat at him, her voice like acid. "I know you touched me, and—and _raped_ me, probably, and knocked me out, and—"

"Woah, woah, woah," The boy spoke up, cutting her off. He put his hands flat on the table and leaned forwards, getting far too close to Lucy for her liking; she leaned back as he leaned closer. "You think I _what_?"

She narrowed her eyes and her cheeks puffed out in anger. "Don't play dumb. I'm not naïve."

His jaw was slack, mouth falling open slightly; still, there was a spark of amusement in his dark eyes. "You're jumping to conclusions."

"Oh, _am I_?" Lucy hissed. "I woke up in a strange bed after being _abducted_ by two members of the brotherhood. My forehead was _wounded_ and I was covered in blood—my entire body hurts like I've been beaten silly, and I have absolutely no recollection of what happened. Does it sound like I'm jumping to conclusions? Because I think it's _very_ clear what happened."

He scratched the back of his neck, trying to stifle a smirk. "Just because I'm part of the brotherhood, you think I'm a rapist?"

"Yes, you idiot!" She snapped at him.

There was a glint of darkness in his gaze. "You think I'm bad?"

Her expression was cold. "I think you're _a monster_."

The smirk wisped away quickly, leaving a dark expression in its place. He swallowed, dark eyes never leaving hers. "Maybe I am."

"So you admit it, then?" She pressed. "You did take advantage of me?"

The pink haired boy glared at her, abruptly dropping the act of playing along. Something about the honesty in her voice when she said he was evil, something about the sting on her tongue made him go dark. "You're sore because you flailed around in the back of the car. I handcuffed you to the seat. You slammed your body around in protest."

Lucy frowned. "Eh?"

He continued, not blinking. "We stopped driving because we wanted you to calm down. We thought you were going to hurt yourself." He paused. "When the car stopped moving, you tried to make a break for it. You opened the car door and tried to escape. I think you forgot you were handcuffed—you pushed forward but your wrist pulled you back. You slammed your head against the car door." That glimmer of amusement was clear again in his gaze. "Blacked out completely."

Lucy's neck began to get hot; the heat creeped up, spreading through her face until her cheeks were beating bright red. There was something in his eyes, in his voice that told her was telling the absolute truth. He wasn't deceiving her, she could sense it. "Oh," She whimpered. "I see."

"Still think I'm a monster?"

"Depends," Lucy muttered. "Can I go home?"

He met her eyes. "No."

"Then yes," She grumbled under her breath. "A monster."

His lips twisted into a tiny, small smirk for two full seconds before he glanced away, wiping away any trace of humanity on his expression. "How's your head feeling?"

Lucy looked him square in the eyes. "Take me home."

She saw him grit his teeth slightly, taken aback by how stubborn she was.

"I told you—you're not going home."

Lucy swallowed. " _Ever?_ "

"Indefinitely."

His words were like stabs to her chest. _Indefinitely?_ So she wouldn't know when she'd get to go home, when she'd get to see Levy again…she might not be able to return to work, to her apartment, to her cozy little bathtub. Every single part of her life that she loved—gone, _indefinitely_.

"But _why_?" Lucy whispered, voice going weak.

His adam's apple bobbed. "If you leave, you die." He stood.

"Wait!" Lucy cried, begging him not to walk away before she got the answers she needed. "Wait, please—why are you keeping me here?"

The pink haired boy looked down at her. "We're not talking about this."

Lucy stood defiantly. "We are _so_ talking about this— _right now_."

His face remained the same, expressionless mask that he'd been wearing ever since Lucy had first caught a glimpse of him—but his eyes, as she had noticed, always gave himself away. He could work his face into a blank look, but those dark, mysterious eyes were his tell.

His eyes, right now, were smiling. Grinning at her ferocity, at her anger, at the way she stood up to him despite fearing him. Or maybe it was her fear that made him smile. He wasn't sure.

The boy watched her for a long moment before letting out a breath; he sat back down. "You get two questions. Ask wisely."

Lucy returned to her seat, eyeing him cautiously. "Why can't I go home?"

"I told you," He replied. "If you leave, you die."

She frowned. "That's not very specific."

"I didn't say you'd get a specific answer."

Lucy narrowed her eyes. "Cheater."

"Are you forgetting who I am?" He leaned back in his chair, lips twisting up into that ghost of a smirk again. It was like he wanted to, but was trying to fight the amusement he felt. "This is the brotherhood."

"That's fair," She muttered under her breath.

"Last question."

Lucy looked at her hands, fiddling as she thought of what she wanted to ask. There were so many things she wanted to know, so many things she wanted clarified—but she knew he'd give her a shitty response anyways. So, she asked one question that had plagued her since her conversation with Gajeel.

"Why didn't you kill me at the bar?"

The smirk faded yet again, and his expression went cold. His eyes darted down, glancing at the cool metal of the table, not meeting her gaze. He seemed unsure, hesitating over his words; it took him a solid minute to form a response.

"I don't know."

Lucy made a face. "You've got to be kidding me!" She cried. "You can't just give me two questions and then give me the worst responses of all time."

His eyes flickered back up to her.

Lucy leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. There was something…normal about him here. If she cleared her mind, if she tried to forget that she witnessed him killing dozens of people, she'd think he looked like a nice boy. She'd think he was interesting. And even now—he was interesting. Because for whatever reason, he'd given the order not to kill her. They could've, but he didn't. And she wanted to know why.

"You spared me," Lucy breathed, brown eyes looking into his intently. "I want to know why."

He stared right back at her, never breaking eye contact. It took him a few minutes to reply. He was hesitating—it appeared he was chewing on the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say—but he eventually spit out a few words. When he did, his tone was icy, harsh, unkind. Lucy didn't know why.

"Because you looked weak," He spat, eyes never faltering from hers. "Because you couldn't protect yourself."

"So you wanted to protect me?"

He clenched his jaw. "I wasn't saving you," He muttered. "Don't spin it like I'm your hero."

"But you _were_ saving me."

He looked away, annoyance clear in his eyes. That word—it made him uncomfortable. "I just—I don't know." He was becoming irritated, now; his hands balled into fists. His expression was growing darker and darker, fading further away from that little smirk he'd managed before. "You have no idea what we would've done to you."

"We?"

"The brotherhood. If they had thought for a _second_ that you were with the shadows…" He looked down at his hands, resting on the table before him. "We would've tortured you."

Lucy's frown grew. "How'd you know I wasn't with the shadows?"

"I've been doing recon on them," He explained. "I've never seen you before."

"So, if you weren't there that night…"

He met her eyes. "You would've _wished_ they'd killed you."

Chills ran down Lucy's spine, making her entire body shiver with fear. Hearing him just _barely_ discuss the brotherhood's torture policies—along with having walked by and overheard what appeared to be torture on the way to the interrogation room—made Lucy want to be sick. Things could've gone so, so wrong if he hadn't been there. He'd spared her.

It took Lucy a couple moments to gather herself enough to speak.

"Well, thank you," She murmured, ducking her head, avoiding his eyes. "For being there. For sparing me."

"I didn't do it for you."

She looked up. "Then, who'd you do it for?"

He swallowed. "I don't know."

Lucy watched him carefully, watched the way his face contorted as he tried to mask his expression; he was good at it, but she still caught flickers of emotions washing across his face. Now, in the flickers, all she saw was anger. Dark, burning anger. But it wasn't directed at her; she wondered who could inspire such fury.

"I'm still grateful."

"You shouldn't be," He murmured. "You're stuck here."

"Alive, though."

He stood. "After a while, it'll make you feel like you aren't."

She frowned again—he seemed to make her do that a lot. "You don't like it? In the brotherhood?" She peered up at him from her seat.

The boy let out a little breath through his nose. "Stop that."

Lucy blinked, sitting back slightly. "Stop what?"

"Digging for information."

Lucy closed her mouth, thinking over his words. She supposed she _had_ been poking at him, asking more questions than he'd initially allowed. But she hadn't been trying to smuggle information out of him—those weren't her intentions. "I just wanted to know more about you."

"You know enough."

"Well," She hummed. "You don't know anything about me. Not yet, anyway. So, here's a start—my name is Lucy."

He was quiet for a long few moments before he murmured, "Lucy," under his breath. He looked at her, a strange look in his eyes—one made of fury and fear. "I'm Salamander."

"Salamander. Nice to meet you."

Salamander stood, walking towards the door. "Stay here."

Lucy made a face. "Where are you going?"

"I've got things to do. Gajeel will come grab you soon—and he'll bring you some clothes, too."

"Oh." Lucy blinked. As much as she wanted to question Salamander a little bit more, she really _did_ want some fresh clothing. "Hey, Salamander?"

He turned back, looking at her. "Hm?"

Lucy's eyes dropped to the table, and she felt her neck creep red. "I'm sorry for calling you a monster" She muttered, "After all, you saved me."

Salamander turned forwards, facing the door. "You shouldn't be sorry."

"Why not?"

"Because I am a monster." He opened the door and dipped out quickly, leaving absolutely no room for Lucy to spit out a response.

She sat there, in the empty interrogation room, staring at the now closed door. Fear ran through Lucy's veins like a shock of icy water.

Because she believed him.


	5. War

"Here," Gajeel said, shutting the interrogation room door behind him. In his arms he held several plates, all layered with various types of delicious looking foods; beneath that, tucked into the crook of his arm, were pieces of clothing folded carefully. "Food and clothes."

Lucy felt instant relief when he walked through the door; it had been nearly half an hour since Salamander had left, and she had begun to fear that he'd lied to her about someone returning for her.

Lucy's stomach growled and she licked her lips, staring at the plates as Gajeel set them on the table. She ran her eyes over the contents, lips instantly turning into a small grin. Eggs, bacon, sausage, croissants, fruit—every piece of food she loved. After a few seconds, she glanced up at Gajeel, awaiting eagerly.

He placed the clothing on the far side of the table, smoothing out a wrinkle. He seemed confused that she was looking at him. "Well, go on then," He said. "Eat up. You're probably starving."

Lucy didn't need any further instruction; she tore into the food ravenously, grabbing with her fingers and stuffing things into her mouth. The moment it touched her lips, happiness flooded her veins; she proceeded to inhale the contents of the plates within two minutes.

Gajeel seemed surprised, and a little disgusted. "Okay—wow. Guess I should've fed you earlier."

Lucy licked her lips, letting out a heavy breath, patting her stomach. She felt better, now—more alive. Her bones still ached and her head still throbbed—although the embarrassment of knowing the origin of her wounds made her think about them less—but there was more energy thrumming throughout her veins.

"Thank you for the food," Lucy murmured. "Thank you."

He smiled. "Don't thank me—it was Natsu's idea."

Lucy's expression dropped, her face twisting into a small frown at his words. Yet again, Salamander was doing something kind for her. He'd saved her, spared her from a guaranteed death—and now, he'd opted to feed her and clothe her. Yet, he still insisted he was a monster.

But the memory of the bar slammed back into her brain. Watching him sink a knife into a man's heart, watching him easily take the life of at least thirty men—it _was_ monstrous. He hadn't hesitated, hadn't flinched. He was a killer. He was evil. He was a monster.

But why was there such a disconnect? Why would he kill thirty without question, but hesitate over Lucy? Why was he sparing her? Why was he being so damn nice to her, for no apparent reason? Sure, he seemed to switch from nice to icy cold at the drop of the hat, but his actions so far had all been extremely telling—he was keeping her alive, for whatever reason.

Still, he _was_ keeping her hostage. She supposed that was monstrous, as well. Especially since he hadn't explained _why_.

Lucy peered up at Gajeel. Despite his features, he had a kind face; he always had a sparkle of humor, of life, in his eyes. Lucy grit her teeth, nodding to herself. If Salamander wouldn't give her any answers…she'd just have to weed them out of Gajeel.

Lucy sighed. "Is everything his idea?"

Gajeel blinked. "Not always—but usually."

"Is it his idea to keep me hostage?" Lucy spoke, voice a bit shaky. Sure, she was confident in her journalism skills—she could get an answer out of most people. But this was still the brotherhood—the gang that would kill, torture, _hurt_ just about anybody. It was a risky game.

Gajeel scoffed at her use of the word hostage, that striking grin washing across his features. "Aw, and here I thought we were hanging out, having a nice time." He paused, deciding to give her a real answer. "But yeah, I guess it was his idea. The rest of us—we were just going to kill you."

Lucy bit her lip. "He said you wouldn't have killed me," She spoke, but her voice cracked as the fear in her chest became apparent. "He said I would've been tortured."

"You would've."

"Why?" Lucy questioned. "I didn't do anything wrong!"

Gajeel leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. "You were _there_. That's all that mattered."

"So anyone that happens to be near the shadows is guaranteed to die?" Lucy spat. "That's stupid."

He laughed, shaking his head at the girl. "Do you know where that was?"

Lucy's eyes narrowed in response to his question. "No?"

"That was their strategic home base." That grin was still on his lips—he seemed to get a kick out of this, out of revealing horrific truths to Lucy. "That little bar was where they planned every attack, every defensive or evasive move from us. That bar was the shadows' _brain_."

"But—" Lucy began, not understanding, "But I wasn't _with_ them."

"Doesn't matter." His hands were balled up into fists. "We wouldn't have known. You could've been their secretary, a wife, _anything_."

Lucy supposed he was right—they would've had no way of knowing if she was a part of the shadows or not. "I don't think someone involved in the shadows would be so afraid," she muttered.

Gajeel's tone shifted into something much darker than before. "You could've been planted," He spoke, but the words stung like acid. "They could've put you there, told you to scream and cry and puke, expecting us to spare you. And when we took you in, you'd spy." He paused for a long few seconds. "I'm still not convinced you _aren't_ a spy."

Lucy's jaw dropped at his accusatory words; her veins buzzed with shock, with fear. Adrenaline pushed through her limbs, making her feel light-headed. She was surprised how much his words hurt her feelings; she didn't really think she could ever be insulted by a gang member not trusting her, but here she was.

He thought she was a spy. He thought the shadows had put her there, set this all up. She was the scout, peeking into the brotherhood's depths, trying to find answers to bring back to the enemy.

This was what Natsu had been talking about, about other members of the brotherhood not liking questions. This was what he'd been trying to say—they'd question her motives. She'd ask things and they'd want her to die. Because this wasn't the kind of place you asked things.

"You…" Lucy trailed off, still in shock. "You think I'm a _spy?_ "

The words made her want to cry. She wasn't a spy—she was a journalist who lived in a shitty studio apartment and worked all day, every day. She didn't know _how_ to spy. Hell, she researched these gangs for two months straight and ultimately ended up with basically no information.

"Maybe." Gajeel paused, reading the hurt in her eyes. "But Natsu says you aren't. So, you aren't."

Another instance of Salamander coming through for her. Now, not only had he spared her life—but he was sparing her from endless torture, from endless mistrust and questioning by the brotherhood.

"Do you always listen to what he says?"

Gajeel held her gaze, the grin crumbling into a look of grim honesty. "Always."

It took her a few minutes to find her next question. She thought of falling silent, of keeping her questions to herself—but she couldn't seem to shut herself up. She wanted to know more, wanted the answers she wasn't allowed to have—it was her inner journalist, making a mess of things. She should be quiet and do as they say, but she couldn't.

"Why will you kill me if I leave?"

Gajeel instantly frowned, his eyebrows tugging downwards in confusion at her question. "Kill you?" He asked, voice rough and jagged and rocky. "We aren't going to kill you."

Lucy's face twisted into anger, confusion. Why was she getting different responses each time she asked the same question? How was she supposed to collect information if every piece of intel she got negated another?

"So, I can go home, then?"

"Well," Gajeel tipped his head to the side, "No."

Annoyance flushed through her; she leaned back, letting out a groan. "Why not?" She hissed, not understanding. "Why do I have to stay here?"

Lucy put her head down on the table, covering herself up with her arms, careful to tuck her elbows tight to keep the towel she wore from slipping down. She wanted her own clothes, her own hairbrush, her own bathtub; she wanted to lay on her own couch, listen to her music, write on her own computer. She wanted to go home, to go back to where she belonged.

"Just because _we_ won't kill you doesn't mean someone else won't."

Lucy peeked up, a single eye peering out from over her arm. "Huh?"

"You don't get it?" He blinked at her. "You were at the shadow's strategic base. If we hadn't taken you, they would've killed you on the spot. And if you'd run—they would've found you. You saw more than they allow anyone to see." He let out a little breath as he saw confusion settle into her eyes. "And, to top it off, we _didn't_ kill you. We spared you. Do you know what that looks like, from their perspective?"

Lucy swallowed. "…No."

"Let me set it up this way," He frowned as he thought how to word his sentences. "Look at it from their perspective: a strange, young girl in a short dress enters their bar—their strategic base. Questionable, isn't it? Moments later, their greatest enemy arrives and attacks the base, wiping out their entire strategic team." He waited, hoping to see recognition in her eyes. "Do you get it now?"

Lucy blinked, horrified by what he was implying. "They…they think I'm a spy?"

Gajeel nodded. "Isn't that what it looked like? You're the scout that comes before the army."

"But—But I wasn't!"

"It doesn't matter if you weren't," Gajeel muttered. "Appearances are everything."

Her breath caught in her throat, felt trapped in her lungs; her eyes became wet, her hands beginning to shake. "So, if I went home…"

"They'd find you and kill you." Gajeel paused. "We're keeping you here to protect you."

Lucy's eyes narrowed at him, causing a few rogue tears to slip down her cheeks. "But _why_? Why would you care if they killed me or not?"

Gajeel's face twisted and contorted in a funny way, one that seemed to imply he himself wasn't quite sure of the reasoning—not that he'd ever admit that. He swallowed and his adam's apple bobbed, and he glanced down at his hands before looking back up at the girl. "It was Natsu's call."

 _Salamander_. Again, for whatever reason, he'd saved her. He'd chosen not to kill her, chosen to keep her safe rather than throw her to the shadows. He'd protected her, over and over.

But this was the boy she'd seen in the bar. This was the boy who stole life away from others easily. This was the boy who'd taken on thirty men without issue. He'd shoot and stab and choke with swift, calculated movements.

He was a monster. But a monster who had saved her.

"Why did he save me?"

Gajeel chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. His voice was quiet, held back—more reserved than it usually way. "He's not cut out for this stuff—for the brotherhood way of life." He swallowed. "He cares too much."

Lucy blinked. That boy, in the bar, who murdered thirty men without batting an eyelash— _that_ boy cared too much? She couldn't see it. "I don't understand."

"When we were kids, when they did their first real training for us—prepping us for the brotherhood—the first task is to kill a dog." Gajeel looked up at her, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes when he saw the horror on her face. "We were young. Six, maybe. Each kid got a dog. You had to snap its neck."

Lucy's hands balled up, her nails digging into her palm. How could an organization be so evil, forcing their children at age _six_ to do such things?

"Natsu could never do it." Gajeel smirked, thinking back. "He wouldn't kill that stupid dog. They starved him, stripped him, beat the shit out of him daily for so goddamn long. But he wouldn't kill the dog." He blinked, the nostalgia slipping from his eyes; he looked back at Lucy. "He just…he can't let the innocent be hurt. It's just the way he is."

"So, he's not cut out for the brotherhood?" Lucy asked. "He's bad at this?"

"Bad?" Gajeel scoffed. "He's the best we've got. He can kill a man with a shoelace in half a second. But it wears on him."

His words made sense to Lucy—she'd caught glimpses of it in Salamander's eyes. Weariness, settling into the pit of his stomach. She'd seen it for split seconds before he masked himself with a blank façade.

"And you?" Lucy questioned. "Does it wear on you?"

Gajeel seemed intrigued by her question; he thought for a moment before a wicked grin spread across his lips. "Not at all."

Lucy swallowed, a lump of fear rising in her throat. "And _your_ dog?"

"Killed it." He sucked in a sharp breath. "Easily."

Her veins buzzed as a strange fear washed through her—not of him, but of what he was clearly capable of. But it was interesting to hear him speak about Natsu, about Salamander, and how different they were. Salamander was better at killing, more efficient—but it pulled him down, ate away at him. He couldn't kill his dog, just like he couldn't kill Lucy. Two helpless, worthless things that he'd saved.

But Gajeel wasn't bogged down by murdering. He could do it—although not as well as Salamander—and it didn't bother him.

Lucy wondered how Salamander hid the pain of killing so well. That night, at the bar…he'd seemed unbothered. He'd been a cold blooded killer, and looked the part. But the fact that Lucy was still alive, still in the protective custody of the brotherhood was proof of otherwise.

Lucy sucked in a breath, her mind reeling over the information Gajeel had provided her. She now knew _why_ she was being held captive—and it wasn't what she'd expected at all. They weren't keeping her as a sex slave, or as a hostage—they were keeping her to protect her from the shadows. Because the shadows thought she was a spy, or a scout, or _something_.

But mostly, she was bothered by one part of his words. The part that discussed them as children.

"How young do they recruit kids into the brotherhood?" Lucy asked, still horrified that they would force children to kill dogs.

Gajeel shrugged. "It varies. But we weren't really recruited."

"How'd you join, then?"

"Born into it," He muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "Raised into it."

"And they started your training at age six?" Lucy frowned. "That's…harsh."

"Probably before then," Gajeel admitted. "But the physical stuff—the training—that started at six."

Lucy seemed upset, angry about it all. "That's…horrible."

Gajeel laughed at her. "It's the brotherhood. Did you think it would be sweet?"

Lucy clenched her jaw. "No, I guess not." But still, the idea of these gangster forcing their own children into something so terrible didn't sit right with her; her stomach twisted, knotted up angrily.

As much as she'd come to realize Gajeel and Salamander weren't the evil men she'd first encountered—in fact, she found talking with Gajeel rather enjoyable—this place, this organization was still horrible. Recruiting children—their _own children_ —at such young ages, forcing them to train and to kill before the age of seven…it made her want to puke. The brotherhood was disgusting. She hated it.

And she wanted to ask him more, wanted to ask him what his childhood was like, growing up in the brotherhood. Did he get to play games? Did he get to go to school? Did he get to have fun? Or was it all about the brotherhood—was it all training, all manipulation into being the perfect killer?

But she never got the chance. Before she could open her mouth, before she could form the words to her next question, she was rudely interrupted.

An alarm went off, blaring loudly into the little interrogation room; red, rotating lights gleamed, throwing off a red cast to the place. The sound was so loud Lucy flinched, instantly covering her ears and letting out a cry of pain; everything sounded distant and fuzzy—the alarm had been too loud in her ears. The lights made her eyes ache, made her squint just to be able to see.

Gajeel stood quickly, his body twisting strangely. Every muscle in his body was tight, tense; it was like he was prepared for battle. He headed for the door in long, swift steps. He was a man on a mission.

"Wait!" Lucy cried. "Where are you going?"

Gajeel hissed, glancing back at the girl. It appeared he'd sort of forgotten about her—he'd been ready to head off, do whatever his duties were in a situation like this. But he backtracked, walking back to the table. He hesitated for a moment, glaring at her as he thought, before he spat, "Get dressed— _now_. We have to go."

His voice was loud and dark and frightening, and she didn't question him. She grabbed the pile of neatly folded clothes he'd brought down earlier with the meal, eagerly dropping her towel and tugging the clothes onto her body. When she glanced back up, she was relieved to see that he'd spun around and glanced the other direction to give her as much privacy as possible.

Once dressed, Lucy went and stood by his side. She peered up at him—boy, was he ever tall—fear beginning to creep into her limbs. He looked tense, his features hard; if _he_ was worried, then Lucy was absolutely _doomed_.

"Follow me," He muttered, clearly focused on other things.

He swung the heavy metal door open, leading Lucy into the dim, dingy hallway. This time, the hallway was even darker; the normal lights had gone out and were replaced solely by the blinking red lights. They weren't alone, either; brotherhood members piled out of the other rooms, joining Lucy and Gajeel as they jogged through the hallway, towards the stairs.

The members were all shouting at each other, relaying information relevant to them.

"Kayd—head upstairs! Jagers all on the fourth floor!"

"Caza meet up in the back—at the stables!"

The members gave Lucy strange looks, as though they were questioning her presence; they didn't seem to care enough to ask Gajeel about her. Lucy stuck close to the black haired boy, afraid that if she strayed too far she'd get lost in the crowd of brotherhood members.

They all dashed up the dim, narrow stairway; once at the top, everyone seemed to split into different directions. They all appeared to be separating into groups; segregations of groups ran up more stairs while others dipped left, while others headed in different directions.

Gajeel turned back, pulling Lucy out of the other men's paths. They were back up on the main level of the house—it no longer appeared dim and dirty. This was much nicer than the basement: nice interior design, cream walls, vaulted ceilings. Red lights still glared through the building, accompanied by that blasted alarm. She wanted to cover her ears. "Are you okay so far?"

Lucy gave him a nod. Terrified, worried, but physically fine. She was about to speak, about to tell him she was alright, but she was interrupted—again.

Salamander skidded around a corner, eyes going wide and filling with relief at the sight of Gajeel and Lucy. "There you are!" He spat, dashing towards the pair. He was shirtless, wearing only grey sweatpants; his torso was soaked with sweat, like he'd just been working out. He glanced at Gajeel. "Code seven."

Gajeel tensed up. "Seven? _How_?"

"I don't know," Natsu muttered as he walked closer, turning his dark gaze to Lucy. He ran his eyes over her face, over her cheeks. His big hands spread open, and it seemed like he was about to reach out for her, touch her shoulder; he flexed his fingers and then balled them into fists, forcing them to stay at his sides. "Lucy—you're okay?"

Lucy was caught off guard; she blinked at him for a few seconds before nodding vehemently. "I'm okay."

"Where?" Gajeel questioned.

"Not sure," Salamander replied, eyes darting around. "No eyes yet."

Lucy couldn't help but question things. "What's happening?"

Both boys looked at her, and then each other; they seemed to be debating whether she should be privy to this rather confidential information. Gajeel shrugged, nodding; Salamander breathed out through his nose, then turned to her.

"There's an intruder."

"Oh." Lucy swallowed. The truth didn't make her feel any better. "A dangerous one?"

Gajeel laughed. "Any intruder _here_ is dangerous. You don't just stumble into a high security brotherhood hideout."

Natsu peered up at the high ceilings, eyes tracing the large spiral staircases on either side of the foyer they were in. "Caza's are out back. Mords took second floor look out."

Lucy's expression twisted into what felt like a permanent frown.

Gajeel nodded. "Jagers on fourth floor."

"Yeah," Natsu said. His eyes kept searching around the foyer, up the staircases. He seemed on edge. "Drache up there, too."

"What?" Lucy asked, stepping in again. She couldn't do this—couldn't stand around, not understanding what they were talking about. Not when a dangerous person could be near them at any second. "Jagers? Drache?"

"They're the ranks in the brotherhood," Gajeel explained quickly, glancing at her. "Drache are the our elite, central intelligence."

"And you two?" Lucy blinked. "What rank are you two?"

Salamander's voice was hard, his jaw locked tightly. "Gladiators."

"Is that high?" Lucy asked. It wasn't a relevant question, sure, but she couldn't make sense of things right now. She was stressed, afraid…the question just blurted out of her.

Gajeel laughed. "High?" He grinned down at her. "Bottom of the barrel."

Salamander rolled his eyes. "Focus, Gajeel. We should head towards the front—maybe we can cut him off before he gets too deep."

"Good idea." Gajeel said with a nod. He paused, hesitating before taking a step; he peered down at Lucy. "The girl?"

Salamander seemed to be fighting himself on something; after a few seconds of silence, he muttered, "She's with us," and jogged off.

Gajeel nodded. "You heard him," He said to Lucy. "You're with us. Let's go."

Lucy had to really push herself to keep up with the two boys; they were faster than she was. They weaved in and out of rooms, hallways, pushing onward; they seemed to be heading towards the far end of the house.

Eventually, they skidded into another foyer—the southern foyer—which was the entrance to the magnificent mansion. It was almost a direct replica of the foyer they'd just been in, but on the complete opposite side of the house. The ceilings were huge, vaulted; two spiral staircases faced the front door, wrapping symmetrically around a door that lead to the main ballroom.

Natsu froze as they entered the room, pushing a hand out to the side, catching Lucy from skidding out further onto the marble floors. "Shh—listen," He whispered. "Can you hear it?"

Lucy fell quiet, holding her breath, trying to hear whatever he was referencing.

Outside, gunfire. Screams of men, the sound of bodies falling to the ground. Absolute chaos, and then complete silence. Footsteps walked towards the large entrance, nearing the room where Lucy, Gajeel, and Salamander stood. Whatever rank had been assigned with the protection of the front gate had failed.

The huge front doors pushed open, and three figures walked into the building. Their space was slow, not rushed in the slightest; they had an air of cockiness to them. They walked in, stopping once they saw Natsu, Lucy and Gajeel.

"Ah, Salamander," The man in front said, a grin splitting across his lips. "How nice to see you."

Salamander shifted, pushing Lucy behind him. "Can't say the same."

The man laughed, but his eyes narrowed. "We heard you visited our bar."

Salamander's voice was strained. "I had some business with Drazen."

"Drazen," The man spoke, "Wasn't yours to have business with."

"He was a traitor," Gajeel spat. "He had it coming."

"You killed our men," The man hissed. His expression faded from the sarcastic look of pleasantries, and was now displaying his true emotions. Pain. Anger. "You _slaughtered_ them."

Salamander was cold. "They deserved it."

The man was furious, now. He reached into his coat, pulling out a pistol. "I'm here to warn you," He spoke quietly, trying to contain his rage. "I'm here to tell you that the shadows are coming. And we won't stop until the brotherhood is wiped out."

Salamander's right hand reached back, tucking Lucy further behind his stance. He kept his hand there, holding her elbow. "You can try," He growled. "But you won't win."

The man lifted his pistol, aiming it at Salamander; the two men standing behind him did the same.

"Hope Igneel doesn't mind that we wipe out his best asset." The man smirked, placing his finger on the trigger. "We'll see how the brotherhood manages without you, Salamander."

All three men put their fingers on the triggers of their guns, their fingers inching closer to pulling them.

But before they had the chance, Salamander ducked. He pulled down hard on Lucy's elbow, forcing her down with him; she stumbled to the ground, just out of the way of the pistol's shot, her hands catching herself on the marble. Gunfire rang through the air, making Lucy's head spin. Salamander didn't stay down in his crouched position; he quickly spun back, reaching for Gajeel's side, grabbing a knife holstered to his friend's hip.

Salamander grabbed the knife, quickly turning on his heel, still crouched; the momentum of spinning a quarter turn to the right became the main force behind the knife. He threw the knife, not bothering to wait to see where it landed; he was immediately standing, running towards the three men.

Lucy eyes were wide and she was about to call out for him, but she realized he didn't need her assistance—he had it under control.

The knife flew through the air, puncturing through one of the goon's foreheads with accurate precision; the man clattered to the floor, blood seeping from the wound. The goon's gun fell from his hands.

The other two men turned their pistols to Salamander yet again, but he was already at their side; he punched the other goon, sending him staggering backwards. Salamander's right foot stomped at the dropped pistol on the ground, flipping it up towards him. He caught it with ease, cocking it without a second's hesitation. Without glancing at the goon, Salamander lifted his hand and pulled the trigger, shooting the man in the forehead.

The intruder—clearly the leader of the group—pulled his gun on Natsu, turning to point the pistol directly at Salamander's head. Salamander easily disarmed him, sending the weapon flying across the room—it slid to Lucy's feet. She kicked it away, horrified by how close the weapon had been to her fingertips.

The intruder threw a sharp right hook to Salamander's right cheek; the blow made him drop the pistol he'd picked up. Salamander threw a punch in response—a sharp jab to the intruder's gut. While the intruder fell forwards in response to the hit, Salamander brought both fists down on the intruder's back; as he did so, he lifted his knee, essentially smashing the man's face down into a blow from both directions. Salamander ducked slightly, twisted around the man's cowering body; he leaned down and pulled the knife from the dead goon's forehead. He kicked the intruder again, and when the man staggered left, Salamander came up behind him. He gripped the man's hair and pressed the knife to his throat.

"It won't matter if you kill me," The man sputtered, breathing heavily from the beating he'd just taken. "The shadows are still coming. The war has begun."

Salamander whispered in his ear. "I'll see you in hell."

He slipped the knife back, the blade easily slitting the man's throat. Lucy's hands flew up, covering her eyes; she let out a cry. Blood spurted out and Lucy heard the man choke and gag for breath for a split second before it went quiet.

Salamander was breathing heavily, and he peered up. Gajeel was shaking his head, impressed; Lucy was cowering, shaking, covering her eyes as she began to sob. He released the grip he had on the man's hair, the body dropping to the floor with a heavy thud; blood began to pool around Salamander's bare feet.

He watched as the girl cried, her shoulders shaking with every sob.

The war had begun. They needed to prepare.


	6. The Boy In The Photos

Lucy watched as he bent down, carelessly grabbing the dead body by the back of the collar. He stepped forward, easily hauling the deadweight behind him; he pulled it down the cobblestone driveway to the unmarked van. He grabbed a limp foot, his hands wrapping around the bloodstained shoe, picking up the corpse; he threw it into the back of the van without issue.

Salamander turned, making his way towards the next body, about to repeat the same steps.

Lucy's eyes trailed from the boy to the driveway, her back against the front door of the mansion. All around her was death; dozens of bodies of brotherhood members, their blood spilled onto the concrete path. Dozens of dead bodies littered the driveway, bullet wounds in their heads and their chests, their weapons lifeless on the ground.

Three men had done this. Three members of the shadows had walked in and annihilated an entire rank of men in the brotherhood.

The war had begun. The shadows were coming in full force, now. The brotherhood should be afraid.

But Salamander didn't seem afraid. There wasn't fear in his eyes. Lifting these dead bodies—the bodies of his comrades—didn't make him afraid, didn't make him sad. His expression was caught in a stern frown, one that signalled he was deep in thought. He hauled more bodies to the van, not bothered by the fact that his so-called _brothers_ ' blood was dripping down his arm, splattering onto his bare feet.

Lucy felt tired. This entire day had been exhausting, and it had just begun. She had never been so afraid in her life. Seeing those men easily enter a heavily protected mansion, seeing them kill and murder brotherhood members like they were _nothing_ —it horrified her.

But Salamander had dealt with it easily. He'd gotten a single hit on him—that was it. He'd killed three men, three _dangerous_ men, with absolute ease. Gajeel hadn't even bothered to help out, that's how confident he was in Salamander's abilities. After all, Gajeel _had_ said Salamander was the best the brotherhood had.

But if that were true, then why was he a gladiator—which, according to Gajeel, was the lowest rank in the guild?

Salamander lifted the last body into the van, shutting the doors behind it; he slapped the back, signalling it was ready to head off. The driver gave a nod, and the van took off, hauling the dead members away from the mansion.

Salamander gave Lucy a glance before he walked towards her. He seemed to be taking it cautiously, carefully checking her emotional state before advancing toward her.

Lucy looked at him, looked at the way the blood was smeared across his bare chest and sweatpants. Some of it brotherhood blood, some of it shadows blood. She turned her gaze to his eyes.

"You doing okay?" He asked, and his voice was quiet. He seemed hesitant to ask.

Lucy thought over a million ways to respond to such a question. Was she doing okay? Probably not. Held captive by a gang, witnessed the deaths of far more than she'd like, now caught in a gang war…it wasn't her best day. And she thought about responding like that, with snark and sass and attitude, but she didn't. She held it together, her hands unknowingly balling up into fists. "Yeah. Fine."

"You're shaking," Salamander noted. His eyes had dropped to her hands, observing the way they trembled. Her entire body was quivering with fear, the horror of what she'd seen clear in her eyes. Ten minutes after the fact and she was still afraid. His jaw went tight, his eyes went cold, realizing that fear was because of him.

Lucy peered down at her hands. To her surprise, they _were_ trembling. She'd been too caught up watching Salamander haul bodies to notice. "Oh," She murmured softly, clasping her hands together in an attempt to stop them from quivering. They just shook faster, harder, now that they were connected as one. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," He muttered, and there was a catch in his throat that Lucy didn't understand.

Lucy looked at him, big brown eyes confused. "Sorry?" She questioned. "For what?"

His eyes were dark, something troubling him behind them. His expression was frightening. "For doing that in front of you."

Lucy blinked. "Doing what?" She narrowed her eyes. "For protecting me?"

That word seemed to surprise him; his eyebrows shot up for a split second before he suffocating the emotions on his face. His eyes, though, gave it all away—shock, fear, anger at the prospect of him _protecting_ her. He looked like he wanted to reply, say something to her about it—but he bit his tongue, held himself back. When he finally spoke, his voice was void of emotion. "You're afraid of me."

She searched his face, wishing he hadn't hid his emotions away. She wanted to know what he was thinking, the implications behind such a statement. Did he _want_ her to be afraid? Or did it anger him?

"I'm not scared of you," Lucy spoke, but the words came out as a little whisper.

Salamander turned his head, glancing down at her. "Liar."

"I'm not," She insisted stubbornly. "I'm not scared of you. Just what you're capable of."

"What's the difference?"

Lucy frowned, pondering that. The difference…well, she supposed that he was right—there wasn't really a difference. He was capable of murder—that made him a killer. But there was something incredibly human about him. She could see it in his eyes, sense it in every trigger pull. Something delicate that he was trying to bury.

When Lucy struggled to find a response, Salamander let out a heavy breath. He touched his lip; it was beginning to swell where the intruder had punched him. His nose crinkled in annoyance at the sting.

A head poked out from the door; it was Gajeel. He'd left after Salamander's fight to speak with the Drache to find their next orders. "It's a go," He spoke. "Out in five." He ducked back into the house, disappearing just as quickly as he had arrived.

"Come on," He urged, voice gravelly. "We've got things to do."

Lucy frowned as he side-stepped her, turning to follow him. He opened the large door to the mansion, holding it behind him for Lucy; she jogged slightly to catch up, letting the door fall shut behind her. "Where are we going?"

"My room."

Lucy's body tensed up, unsure if there were any implications in his words. "Why?"

He seemed to pick up on her anxiety, and a smirk flickered onto his lips. He was amused—but there was that strange glimmer of darkness in his eyes, a look that made Lucy question how happy he really was. "Relax. We've got to grab some stuff."

Men were running around the mansion, shouting orders at one another; everyone was in a rush, carrying things, belting out instructions to other men. Lucy frowned, watching as the man frantically ran past the pair. Salamander didn't seem as worried; his pace was gentle, not rushed. He let the others fly past them without a word.

Lucy followed him, wanting to ask questions—but she knew this wasn't the time to do it. She was well aware that Salamander was willing to explain things to her—but he wouldn't, not here, not now. Not when the other members of the brotherhood could overhear.

He lead her through the mansion, taking her through magnificent twisting hallways and beautiful, stunning rooms; they made their way up several stories, heading up a few levels. He took her down a hallway, and Lucy realized she'd been here before. To her right, on the wall, was the photo she'd first noticed when she'd woken up.

Salamander paused outside of a closed door. He flashed her a glance—something resembling shyness—before he swung open the door and stepped in.

It was that plain bedroom she'd woken up in.

The little room seemed odd now, in comparison to the rest of the mansion. The mansion was crafted with marble floors and marble pillars and beautiful furniture, while this little room was small and plain and straightforward.

Lucy looked at Salamander. "Is this your room?"

He nodded, appearing a little bit nervous, before he headed towards his closet. He swung open the doors and grabbed a black duffel bag sitting on the ground; he stuffed clothes into it, and then made his way across the room and grabbed a few things from the desk.

Lucy glanced around the room as he packed his things. The walls were plain—not a single photo in sight—but the inside of his closet was absolutely _covered_ in images and stickers and memories. Lucy meandered towards the closet, her curiosity getting the best of her; she glanced at the closet walls, smiling to herself immediately.

Dozens and dozens of photos of a young Salamander. Several of them were of Salamander and Gajeel; they were young, so young that Gajeel didn't have any piercings, and making funny faces at the camera. Other photos were just as heartwarming: pictures of a young Salamander smiling with fellow brotherhood members. He looked like a goofy young boy, always shooting finger guns at the camera or giving other people bunny ears.

Lucy turned her head, eyes flickering over to the boy across the room. He was pulling weapons out of his desk—gun, knife, knife, gun—and stuffing them into his bag. There was something darker about him now, something heavy sitting in his bones. He didn't look the same. It was hard to believe he was such a goofy kid.

She looked back at the closet. One image, far in the back corner, seemed to stand out to her. Lucy reached in and grabbed it, bringing it closer to her eyes. It was old and treated roughly; out of all the photos, this was the only one that appeared damaged. It was water stained and the image was fainted and there was a tinge of red on the corner, one that Lucy could only imagine was blood.

It was Salamander and Igneel. Lucy recognized the brotherhood's leader immediately, despite the fact that he appeared rather young here. Salamander was young, too; he was maybe eight years old, roughly. It was a candid photo, one that depicted Igneel talking to Salamander, not realizing a camera was on them.

Salamander was different in this picture. There was no goofiness, no silly smiles or cheerful grins. He was rigid. Body tense, eyes dark, hands in fists. He listened to what Igneel was saying, every atom of his being twisted into something different.

Suddenly, it became very clear what had happened to that young, goofy boy.

The brotherhood. That's what happened. Killing and murdering. Fighting. Training. Being taught by Igneel, one of the most ruthless and evil men in Fiore. The darkness…it had taken this sweet little boy and molded him into what he was now.

A killer. A prince of darkness.

Salamander was beside her, suddenly, and his voice was low. "I was seven," He murmured.

Lucy jumped, letting out a cry of fear. She hadn't realized he'd made his way over here; his presence right beside her had nearly given her a heart attack. Lucy blinked, looking up at him and then down at the image. So, she'd almost been right. He was seven.

She remembered what Gajeel had said. The brotherhood had started their physical training at six. In this image, Salamander had already been learning to how to kill efficiently for a year. The thought made her heart want to break.

"You were young," Lucy replied, eyes running along the photo some more. "Very young."

He was close to her; she could feel his breath on her cheek. "Too young."

"For what?" She asked.

Salamander looked into her eyes. That same darkness that was on his face in the image was here, clear on his face, in the present day—except it was worse. Darker, now. "For everything."

He took the photo, stuffing it in his bag; he peeled all of the other photos off of the closet walls, adding them to his bag, too. He seemed well aware that Lucy was watching, that she was observing every single memory he'd opted to keep—and maybe his body was a bit more tense than usual, but that was it. He let her see. He didn't get angry at her for looking.

She watched as he glanced at the photos quickly before putting them in the bag. There was one photo he hesitated on the most, giving it a full few seconds of attention before placing it with the others.

It was a dog.

He was young in the photo, his little arms wrapped around a german shepherd puppy. It's ears were floppy and its paws were too big for its legs. His hand rested on the puppy protectively. Salamander's eyes were conflicted—that strange darkness mixed with absolute happiness.

It was the same look he had when he looked at Lucy.

Gajeel had said Salamander wasn't cut out for the brotherhood. The killing, the violence—it wore on him, ripped at his soul. He couldn't kill a puppy—and he couldn't kill Lucy. Two innocents he'd protected without understanding why.

Salamander stuffed the pictures into the duffel bag, zipping it shut when everything had been stripped from the walls. He stood there, glancing at the empty closet, now void of the memories he had cherished; Lucy couldn't see his expression, but she could feel the tension in the air.

He reached into his pocket and turned to her, pulling his body in close to hers. Lucy blinked, surprised, but didn't step back; he peered down at his hands, at what was in his palms, and then back to the girl.

"I want you to take this," Salamander said roughly, holding his hand out to her.

Lucy peered down at his palm, surprised to see that detailed little pocket knife from earlier being held out to her. She'd found it in one of the offices of the mansion and taken it as a defensive weapon; later on, she'd tried to stab Salamander with it. Lucy swallowed. He'd been so angry…so cold. She'd seen the fury in his eyes when he realized she'd taken it. "A knife?"

His expression was, as always, blank—but there was something desperate in his eyes.

"It was mine, when I was young." He inhaled sharply. "I want you to take it."

"But…why?"

"So you can protect yourself." He ran his eyes over the pocket knife, looked over the careful detailing on its wooden siding. "Where we're going—you'll need it."

Her frown grew. "Where are we going?"

Salamander swallowed, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "Another base. It's not safe here anymore."

"But you killed them all, didn't you? The intruders?"

"Yeah. But they know where we are. They found our base. They can attack at any minute."

"Oh," Lucy said, everything starting to make sense in her mind. "So, everyone running around downstairs…they're organizing a move."

"Yes."

"Where will we go?"

He shrugged. "Another base. We've got plenty."

"You do?"

"Hundreds." He chewed on the inside of his cheek. "This is just the heart of the brotherhood—we've got other ranks, other locations, other branches."

Lucy's head tilted to the side. "If you and Gajeel are gladiators," She began, "And gladiators are a low rank…then why are you at the heart of the brotherhood?"

Salamander blinked, a little caught off guard by her questioning. Still, he obliged, and answered her truthfully. "We're the muscle," He said. "Even the elite brotherhood members need someone to do their bidding."

"So, you do the fighting for them?" Lucy paused. "And the cleanup?"

Salamander nodded, but there was a bit of anger in his eyes. "I do everything that everyone else doesn't want to."

"Doesn't that kind of suck?" Lucy asked, pressing further. "You've been in the brotherhood your whole life, and you just do what everyone tells you to do?"

"I have to," He spat, the rage in his veins getting the best of him. "What else am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," Lucy muttered, shaking her head. "Quit?"

Salamander dropped his shoulders, shaking his head. "You can't quit the brotherhood."

"Well, why not?"

"This isn't some shitty part time job—you don't get to choose. Once you're in, you're in."

"But and Gajeel," Lucy began, crossing her arms. "You were born into it. Don't you get a choice at _all_?"

"No," Salamander responded, voice hard. "If you're born into it…you're part of the brotherhood. Right from day one."

"That's stupid."

Salamander seemed angry, now. He was trying to hold it in, trying to stuff it to the back of his mind, but it was there. He realized a second too late that his fist had closed over the pocket knife, that he was wielding it like a weapon. It was pointed at Lucy, but he wasn't trying to threaten her. It was an immediate response to the words she said, to what she was questioning.

It was something he'd questioned his entire life.

Salamander looked at her, knife sharp in his deadly hands, fury and rage and _anger_ in his blood. But he looked at her, and for a split second he saw that fear in her eyes—the same fear he'd seen at the bar, in the foyer—and the anger was worse. He was furious, mad at himself, mad at his world—but not mad at her.

He released his grip on the blade, and held it back out to her. "Take it."

Lucy met his eyes. "I don't know how to use a knife."

"I can teach you," Salamander said. "But for now—take it. Just in case you need it."

Lucy reached out, her small, delicate hands awkwardly grabbing the knife. It felt strange in her hands, wrong. But there was something beautiful about the little knife, about the carvings in the side of it. Lucy held onto it tightly. "Is it that dangerous?" Lucy asked. "Dangerous enough that you're giving me a weapon?"

"Yes," Salamander replied, and Lucy could tell it wasn't a lie.

For the first time, fear settled into Lucy's limbs—but it wasn't because she'd just witnessed a murder. No, this fear…this was fear of what was to come. If something were dangerous enough to worry Salamander, then Lucy was terrified.

"Why?" Lucy whispered back.

"It's war," Salamander said, his big hands adjusting how Lucy gripped the knife, putting her in a more optimal position. "It will be bloody."

 **A/N : Alright, another slow chapter. Sorry, I know. But this is leading somewhere, I promise! Thanks for all of the great reviews, guys, it means the world to me. Please keep reviewing! Reviews are what really motivate me to write. Thanks so much!**


	7. Hatred

"You want to hold your shoulders high," Natsu said, stepping towards Lucy and adjusting her stance. "Knees bent slightly. Hold the knife steady in your hands."

Lucy had her face messed up into a frown, focused on every piece of advice he was giving her. "Okay."

"You don't want to rush anyone—you aren't experienced enough. That will come with practice." He explained. "For now, evasive moves and defense is what you want to focus on."

Lucy nodded.

They'd spent the day travelling from the old base—the beautiful mansion, ironically dubbed by the brotherhood _the bridge_ —to the new base: a ratty, small, old brick building nestled in the shadows of the forest with a 180 room bunker hiding below it. The bunker wasn't anywhere close to the beauty of the mansion, but it was impressive. High tech kitchens, plain yet accommodating bedrooms, a massive gym and training area for the thousands of brotherhood members arriving.

Brotherhood members from all of the different branches and bases gathered at the new base. Gajeel had informed Lucy that this particular base was called _the iceberg_ —he didn't explain why, but the small little house and the looming bunker beneath it made the visual pretty clear.

The thousands of men had convened at the iceberg in order to set a retaliation plan in motion. The brotherhood wasn't going to simply sit back and allow the shadows to attack—the brotherhood intended to act first, to get the shadows on the run. They weren't going to be passive about this. They were going to strike first.

Salamander had insisted on training Lucy upon arrival. She was exhausted and her energy was depleted, and she just wanted to go to Salamander's room and crawl up in his bed—she didn't get her own room; the higherups of the organization took offense at the idea of a mere hostage getting guest treatment—but he hadn't let her. He'd warned her about the dangers of what was coming, of what they would have to face—the shadows coming in full force—and she'd grumpily agreed.

They'd gone to the gym in the bunker. Lucy didn't like it—it was a gym straight out of an 80's movie. The lights were too dim and the walls were all brick and it stunk like men and sweat. But Natsu had pulled her into the boxing ring, made her take out her knife, and had started to teach her.

Gajeel watched from the sidelines, shouting out some advice to her as the lesson progressed.

When they'd first began, she could barely hold the knife properly. By the end, she was wielding it like the weapon it was—and dodging some slow punches Natsu threw her way.

"Great job, champ!" Gajeel had shouted at the girl, clapping from the edges of the ring.

Other brotherhood members in the area gave them strange, suspicious looks. Salamander and Gajeel _training_ that girl they'd taken from the shadows' bar? It was a recipe for disaster. Still, the others said nothing. They wouldn't dare—not to Salamander.

Lucy couldn't help but grin at the black haired boy, turning her determined glare back to Natsu.

He'd been different with her, here in the training ring. She'd thought he would've reverted into that cruel, brotherhood-created monster that he seemed to become when weapons and violence were at the forefront—but he didn't. In fact, he was…gentle.

There was a tenseness in his muscles, but watching her learn to grip that delicate blade…there wasn't any anger in his expression. And when he got to the gritty parts of the lesson—like how to hold the blade so it would slash an enemy's stomach more directly—he was soft spoken, not pushing her too far.

Lucy would listen to his words, and he would slowly walk her through the move; then, she would practice it on him at full-speed.

"Are you sure?" Lucy asked, hesitating. She didn't exactly want to stab him. "I might hurt you."

Salamander had laughed—Gajeel could be heard snickering from the sidelines—and his eyes were warm. "You can _try_ ," He began, still chuckling, "But you won't."

Lucy raised her eyebrows, grip on the knife tight. "Maybe I'm better at this than you think."

"Maybe." He seemed impressed with her ferocity. "Try it."

Lucy held her breath, adjusting her hold on the weapon. She gave him a look, raising her eyebrows, giving him one last chance to back out, but he grinned and waved her onwards. Shrugging, Lucy gave in; a look of determination flickered into her eyes.

She lunged forward, swiping the knife at his stomach like he'd so expertly shown her how. To her surprise, Salamander stepped the tiniest bit to the left, easily dodging her strike.

Lucy frowned. "I missed."

"It's okay," He responded. "Remember—you'll only use these moves defensively, so you're opponent will be charging you. If I were an enemy, that would've been a direct hit."

She gritted her teeth. "Again."

He smirked. There was fire in her eyes. It reminded him of when he was young, when he first started to train. "Okay."

Lucy got in place again, sucking in a deep breath before she dove back into movement. She lunged forward, striking at him again; this time, she attempted the move Salamander had taught her, but doubled back again directly after, twisting her wrist over and slicing the knife backwards. It was a dirty move, she admitted, but holding a weapon so close to someone, knowing you could hurt them—it was a thrill.

Mostly, she just wanted to get one single nick on him. Just to beat him. Just once.

Salamander didn't even glance down at her wrists to know what she was attempting. He sidestepped her first attack like he had the first time, flicked his own wrist down and caught her hand easily as it came back for a second swipe. Within a split second, he had disarmed her, the knife now held lightly between his fingers.

Lucy's jaw dropped; Gajeel laughed in the distance. "How'd you know?"

Salamander smirked at her, trying to stop the small expression of emotion from growing into a full-fledged smile. "You've got a terrible poker face."

Lucy crossed her arms, a stubborn pout appearing on her lips. "Show me how to disarm someone."

Salamander's head tilted slightly, his eyes cautious. "You should only focus on defensive moves."

Lucy sighed. "A good offense is the best defense." She ignored Gajeel giggling behind her. "Besides—what if someone charges me with a weapon? Defensive strikes aren't going to do much for me."

Salamander struggled for a moment, clearly fighting internally as to what to do—but she was so small, and her eyes were so brown, and the idea of someone running towards her with a knife made him angry. And so he sighed, rolled his eyes, and gave her a nod.

"Yay!" Lucy squeaked, eagerly stepping closer to him so he could instruct her properly.

Salamander handed her the knife. "Pretend I'm you."

"Okay," Lucy said, nodding.

He stepped in close to her, his hands slowly reaching down and grabbing hers. And maybe he was explaining things to her, explaining how he twisted her wrist this way, then that way, or how his thumb touched _there_ on her because the pressure made her fingers go numb—but she didn't get any of it. Because he was standing so, _so_ close—close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, the heat radiating from his torso—and his rough hands were so gentle on hers.

Lucy swallowed, peering up at him. She'd never been so close to him before; she never noticed the green in his eyes. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears.

It was strange, how soft his touch was. She could feel his hands—they were rough, dry, cracked—but the carefulness he used was shocking. It was like he was being careful on purpose. Careful not to grip her too tightly, careful not too put too much pressure on her skin. It was like she was made of glass, and he was a bull in a china shop.

"Got that?" He murmured softly, meeting her eyes.

Lucy blinked, suddenly very aware of how close her face was to his, how close her body was to his. She glanced down, clearing her throat. "Oh. Um. Run through it again?"

The tiniest little smile touched his lips, and it was like the skies had cleared. Everything about him in this moment was so warm, so lovely—Lucy smiled back, and it was genuine. "Okay," he said, and there was a little laugh in his words. "One more time."

Such a short time ago, the sight of him made her want to vomit. Funny how things changed so quickly. Now…he was kind. Teaching her to protect herself.

He ran through it once more, and Lucy forced herself to pay attention; she repeated each step, trying to cement it in her brain.

"Okay. Try on me." He held the knife, pretending he was coming towards her aggressively.

Lucy stepped forward, her hands slipping onto his easily, mimicking the moves Natsu had just displayed; she pressed on his wrist, twisting with her other hand. Her fingers tangled into his, gripping the knife, pulling it from his grasp.

"Very good," He praised.

Lucy pouted. "It was slow. Not as fast as yours."

"You'll get faster," Salamander said. "It takes practice. I've been doing that since I was two and a half."

"Two and a half?" Lucy questioned, eyes going wide in shock. She blinked, shaking her head once. "They were teaching you that as a _baby_?"

He shrugged. "Yeah."

"Why would a two year old need to know how to disarm someone?"

Salamander went quiet, eyes flickering down to the knife in her hands. He looked at her again. "So I could be better than the rest of them."

Lucy felt pity rise in her stomach. "Are you better than the rest of them?"

He swallowed, and she knew what his response would be—it was clear in his eyes. _Yes_. Yes, of course. Because he was the best in the brotherhood, like Gajeel had said. He was the brotherhood's best asset, as the intruder had mentioned. Salamander was the best there was—because the brotherhood had made him so. They'd manipulated him and warped him and stole every ounce of his goofy childhood and turned him into a killing machine.

But he didn't get a chance to answer her—someone else was talking before he had the chance.

"He's not," A deep voice spat from Lucy's right. "He's mediocre at best."

Both of their heads turned to face the voice; Lucy let out a gasp once she realized who was speaking to her.

Igneel.

He was walking towards the ring, a horrible kind of fury in his gaze. He looked at Lucy with anger, then at Salamander with disgust. He stepped closer and closer, his gait slow and relaxed, despite his intimidating aura. He made his way up the steps, grabbing a pair of boxing gloves from the crate beside the ring, and then ducked into it, joining the younger folks.

Lucy couldn't help but stare. This man…he was the most evil man in Fiore. Leader of the brotherhood. Ruthless killer of hundreds, thousands. Crime boss. Murderer. Absolute insane psychopath badass. The one man everyone knew not to fuck with.

She'd researched him for months and had come up with zero information on him. Rumors, stories, myths…but no facts. There had been a few rare photos, but that was it. This man was somehow a mystery and the most well known person in Fiore all at once.

He was tanned, more than she'd expected. He was fit, too. Handsome, even. But the years of being in the brotherhood were apparent on his body—scars down his arms and neck, lumpy and old but still very telling of his past. Tattoos littered his body randomly, but his brotherhood tattoo was the most prominent.

Everything about him was wicked.

Lucy looked at Igneel, her shoulders brushing with Natsu as they both turned to face him. Something touched Lucy's back; out of the corner of her eye, she realized Gajeel had joined them in the ring, standing between the pair.

Igneel's dark eyes flashed to Gajeel's, and he spoke one single word. But that word was enough to write an essay; the implications were extremely clear. There was fury and anger and _disdain_ in his tone, spitting and biting as he growled the word out.

" _Out_."

Gajeel didn't say anything in response; he laid a hand on Lucy's shoulder, very quickly wheeling her the opposite direction and shoving her quickly, tailing closely behind. He pushed her to the edge of the ring, lifting the ropes so she could duck under it easily.

Lucy was confused, but didn't question it. She ducked under the rope and jumped out of the ring, her eyes looking at Gajeel for any sign of what was happening. But there wasn't a sign—there was only a strange form of fear across his face.

Gajeel hurried her out of the gym as quickly as possible.

Lucy looked around on the way out, realizing that the entire gym had emptied without her knowledge; she'd been too caught up in Salamander, in his hands and his teaching, to realize that every single brotherhood member had hightailed it out of there once Igneel had arrived.

As Gajeel turned the corner, forcing Lucy out of the gym, she glanced back.

Igneel chucked the boxing gloves to Salamander, who caught them easily. Igneel raised his own bare fists, a ferocity burning in his gaze. Natsu slipped the gloves on, any ounce of life bleeding out of his expression.

Once they turned the corner, Lucy spun to face Gajeel. "What are you doing?" She whispered, horrified. "You can't just leave him in there alone with _Igneel_!"

Gajeel gave her a look, responding in the same yell-whisper tone Lucy had used. "Hell yes I can!"

"He'll kill him!" Lucy spat.

"He's not gonna kill him!"

"I read a lot about Igneel," Lucy whispered back, horror and fear in her voice, "And I know he doesn't mess around. And he sounded angry, and you guys are just _gladiators_ , and if you made him mad then Lord knows he won't spare you, and Salamander—"

Gajeel rolled his eyes. "He'll be fine."

Lucy was shocked by how little Gajeel cared. The leader of their gang—notorious for being no bullshit, killing anyone who dared to piss him off—had just _confronted_ his best friend— _alone_ —and he wasn't worried? "How could you say that?" Lucy spat, still whisper yelling. "How could you leave your best friend alone in there, _defenseless_ , without backup, against—"

Gajeel lifted an eyebrow. "His dad?"

Lucy stopped dead in her tracks, mouth still open from the sentence she failed to complete. She was stuck there for a few long seconds, eyes narrowing. "His _what?_ "

Gajeel crossed his arms. "His dad."

"Igneel is…"

"Natsu's dad." Gajeel let out a breath. "Yep."

"But that—" Lucy cut off, shaking her head. "That makes no sense."

Gajeel shrugged. "Doesn't have to—it's true." He looked back at her and put a finger to his lips, signalling that she should be quiet. Very slowly, he peeked his head around the corner; he instantly cringed, turning his gaze back to Lucy.

Lucy didn't understand his expression—so she opted to peek into the gym herself.

She was horrified at what she saw.

Salamander, on the floor of the boxing ring, tucked into a ball; his hands were over his head, the big gloves protecting his skull. Igneel was throwing punches to him with his bare hands. A punch to the boy's ribs, a punch to his head, a punch, a punch, a punch.

"You're distracted," Igneel said. "I can't afford distractions."

The brotherhood leader spared no effort—all of his energy was being focused onto the boy on the ground. His knuckles were bloody and cracked from the hits.

"Get the fuck up!" Igneel shouted, the words coming from his chest. He grabbed Salamander's wrist, lifting him. "Look me in the fucking eyes!"

Salamander stood, his entire face already beaten to a bloody pulp. His eyes, his lips, his cheeks—swollen, black and blue. His ears were bleeding and his lip was split and his right eye was barely visible due to the swelling.

"You pissy son of a bitch," Igneel hissed, raising his own bloody fists again in a defensive block. He danced around, stepping closer to the boy. "You swing back or I'll kill you."

Salamander stood there, wobbling as he faced his father, not bothering to lift his gloves.

Igneel shouted, his voice booming through the gym. " _Fight me_!" He stepped forward and threw a hard blow to Salamander's right cheek.

Lucy flinched, hands flying up to cover her mouth; she watched as the boy staggered back, his back hitting the ropes.

"He isn't trying," Lucy whispered to Gajeel. "Why isn't he trying?"

Gajeel was leaning in, peering into the gym, his head above hers. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Igneel was furious. The blood dropped from his knuckles to the ring's floor. " _Give in!_ " He shouted, the words echoing through the building. " _Or is this what you are, now? You're weak? You meet a fucking girl and all of this work, years of work, she ruins it?_ "

Salamander didn't speak, didn't protect himself, didn't fight back.

Igneel hit him again, then again and again. A punch to the throat, to the left cheek, to his right eye. A punch to the stomach, to the ribs, to the kidneys. Over and over, father destroying son.

Breathing heavily, Igneel stepped in close, spitting words at his son's face.

"I always knew you were weak," He growled. "That you'd be nothing. I knew you were a waste, Natsu."

Those words seemed to be the ticket; they seemed to get a response out of the black-and-blue Salamander. He grunted, pushing himself, forcing himself to stand straight; he pushed his back off of the ropes, lifted his arms, bringing his gloves to his face. He stepped forwards, eyes on Igneel.

"That's more like it," Igneel said with a nod, stepping back and giving the boy some space. "That's it! Now, show me!"

Salamander stepped towards Igneel, still just staring.

Igneel was impatient. " _Come on, you fucking pussy!_ " He snarled. "Show me you aren't weak!"

Salamander snapped.

Salamander dove forwards, twisting to the left and avoiding an immediate strike from Igneel; he kicked his legs out, sweeping the older man's feet from under him. Igneel was fast, though, and was up in an instant as if it had never happened. Igneel hopped on his feet, danced around the ring, grinning to himself.

Salamander followed him, although his approach was different than his fathers. Salamander didn't hop, didn't dance; there was something horrible in the way he held his arms—his beaten, bruised arms—like he was a predator searching for a kill.

He seemed to be waiting for something. They faced each other, twisting around the ring. Waiting, waiting…and then he found what he was waiting for.

Salamander threw out a sharp right hook, cranking Igneel's left temple. Igneel stumbled back slightly, and Salamander didn't hesitate; he dove forwards, throwing punch after punch. He threw a sharp blow to Igneel's right cheek, his left ear, his left ear again. Over and over, he went absolutely maniacal on Igneel, essentially beating the man to a pulp.

Except he wasn't.

Igneel blocked some of the blows, sure, but when they landed he smiled. It was like he was immune to pain, like it didn't register with him. Salamander hit him again and again, and Igneel just grinned.

Salamander was screaming now, as he forced a crazy upper hook, taking his father to the floor. He dove upon the older man, resting his knee on his shoulder, and continued to throw furious, angry punches at the body. Over and over, nonstop. Slowly, bit by bit, his onslaught of punches began to lessen, to slow as he grew tired.

And finally, with his last bit of energy, he threw one last hit, cracking Igneel on the nose.

Salamander fell off of Igneel, collapsing to the floor. Igneel slowly pulled himself to a standing position; he paused for a moment and than spat the blood pooling in his mouth on Salamander's limp body.

"Your left hook needs work," He muttered, before slipping from the ring and exiting the gym from the side entrance.

Lucy looked at Gajeel for a sign of when they could re-enter the gym; he waited three long seconds after Igneel disappeared before murmuring, "Go, go, go." He pushed Lucy forward, running alongside her.

Lucy practically threw herself through the ring ropes, sliding to Salamander's limp body on her knees.

"Oh god, oh god," Lucy whispered, afraid to touch him. His entire face was unrecognizable; it was so swollen, bruising purple and black and blue. Blood trailed from his face, seeping out of him furiously; his head was laying in a pool of blood on the ring's floor. "Oh god, is he dead?"

"No," Gajeel murmured. "Breathing."

Lucy lifted the boy's head, letting out a gasp at the horrific scene before her. She placed his head in her lap, not caring that his blood was soaking into her pants. She absentmindedly touched his hair, petted his hair. "Salamander, salamander, wake up, come on—"

Gajeel touched his friend's shoulders, observing his wounds. "Take his gloves off," he instructed. He ran his hand over Salamander's side, the bruising beginning to blossom over the boy's bare torso. "Talk to him."

Lucy pulled the gloves off of his hands, horrified by how bloody his hands were despite them. "Salamander," Lucy whispered, voice cracking and breaking. She stroked his forehead, his hair. "Please, Salamander, wake up."

Gajeel's voice was dark. "I'll go call a medic."

Lucy gave him a nod, turning her attention right back to the broken boy on her lap. "Wake up, wake up…" She let out a breath. "Natsu, please."

His little eyelashes fluttered, and he seemed confused; his dark eyes peered up at Lucy, head still carefully placed on her lap.

"I'm not weak," He said, but the damage to his throat muffled his voice.

Gajeel returned quickly, two medics by his side—the medic centre must be located close to the gym. The medics dashed to Natsu's side, immediately turning him and placing him on a board. They pulled his head away from Lucy's lap.

She watched as they hauled him away, bloody and beaten.

She'd never hated the brotherhood more.

 **A/N:** **Two chapters in one day? Yes yes yes! Please review and rate and critique :)**


	8. Not A Monster

He looked like shit.

He was sitting up in a bed, in an old medical cot. It looked uncomfortable, stiff and unforgiving. Draped over his legs was a crisp white sheet; it was tangled up in his feet, twisted from the restless sleep he'd had. His torso was bare, aside from the various bandages wrapped around his body. His arms were wrapped in soft dressings, some sort of medication below them to help treat his bruising. His hands were bandaged, too—gauze and thick bandages covered his knuckles, now bruised and battered and torn.

He glanced around, but the action made him flinch; he opened his mouth to complain, but that hurt, too. He winced, his bandaged hand slowly coming up to touch his face; he felt his busted lip, his swollen eyes, his bruised cheek. He sighed, leaning back in the bed to try and relax only to realize that _that_ movement hurt, too. His nose wrinkled in annoyance.

It took him a few seconds, but he quickly seemed to understand where he was. The memories of the fight came back to him. The bruises on his skin and the raw wounds on his knuckles served a constant reminder as to what happened.

"See?" Gajeel whispered to the girl, gesturing towards the boy in the bed. "He's fine."

"Fine?" Lucy repeated, not tearing her eyes off of Natsu. "He got the shit kicked out of him."

Gajeel's expression crumpled up into a frown. "It was a tie."

She rolled her eyes. "One of them got up," Lucy whispered back, "And the other didn't. That's hardly a tie."

"Igneel had the upper hand."

The pair were standing in the doorway of the medical ward of the base, watching as Natsu slowly awoke from his slumber. They had been waiting patiently for him to wake up—he'd been admitted several hours ago, but the nurses had administered some medication that knocked him out cold. To waste some time, Gajeel had given Lucy a tour of the base, but she'd been too worried to pay much attention. Gajeel returned her to the medical ward—she felt better _seeing_ Natsu, for some reason—but the nurses insisted the pair give the boy some space until he was in a better state.

So, they'd stood directly outside of the door, watching him sleep. It hadn't appeared restful—he'd been tossing and turning the entire time.

Lucy turned, crossing her arms as she did so, to face Gajeel. "How can you be so nonchalant about this?" She asked. "Your best friend was just _attacked_ by his dad, and you don't even care?"

Gajeel let a breath out through his nose.

They were both in the doorway of the ward, leaning on opposite sides of the doorframe. Lucy had never been so close to Gajeel before—this was the first real chance she'd had to see his face, up close and personal.

From afar, he looked terrifying. But from here, from this close, the intimidation in his features was hard to see. All she could notice was the gentleness in his eyes, the smile lines around his mouth, the sharpness of his jaw. He wasn't the pierced monster she'd first seen him as. From here, he looked…nice.

"I _do_ care," He muttered, turning his gaze to the pink haired boy far across the room. The lights in the ward were dim, and they were far enough away that Natsu wouldn't be able to notice them—not in his hazy, semi-drowsy state, at least. "I hate seeing Natsu deal with this shit. I hate seeing them fight. He doesn't deserve it."

"Do they do this often?" Lucy asked.

"Fight?" Gajeel murmured, glancing at the blonde again. "Constantly."

Lucy's bottom lip jutted out as she frowned. She'd been horrified by the dark intensity Igneel had forced onto Natsu—but to realize that this was a common thing…well, it just made Lucy feel sad. She blinked, turning her head to watch the pink haired boy in the cot again.

Slowly, bit by bit, his medicated daze was beginning to wear off; the life was coming back into his eyes, the clarity and awareness following suit. Soon, his sharp senses would return, and he'd sense their presence. But for now, he was completely unaware.

He looked so innocent, now. Like a broken child. But slowly, as each second passed, that pure innocence began to fade. As each moment flickered by, the darkness in his eyes began to grow. And it wasn't the same darkness Lucy had seen before—it was more, somewhow. Darker. Harder. Colder.

" _Why?_ " Lucy whispered, still not daring to take her eyes off of Natsu. The growing darkness in his eyes made her stomach flop nervously.

Gajeel sighed, and crossed his arms, mimicking Lucy's stance without realizing. "It's complicated." He paused for a moment, trying to gather the right words. "I know you think Igneel's horrible—but he's not."

Lucy's jaw was tight, stiff. "Yeah right."

"He's a hardass, but he's a damn good leader." He swallowed, voice dropping deeper as he continued. "But with Natsu…it was always more with him."

"What do you mean?"

"He was tough on him," Gajeel muttered. "Tougher than he was with anyone else. He just…I think he always wanted Natsu to be better than the rest. Faster, stronger, more skilled. He always demanded excellence from him." He paused, letting out a breath. "When the rest of us were playing…Natsu was training. And when the rest of us were training, Natsu was training harder."

Lucy watched as the boy in the cot pulled himself up further into a sitting position; the movement clearly hurt, and he winced, but continued the motion. Blood began to seep through the bandages on his knuckles. He grit his teeth.

"Why was he so tough on him?"

"Because," Gajeel replied, the back of his head leaning against the doorframe, now. "Natsu's going to be the next leader of the brotherhood."

Lucy tore her eyes away from the boy in the ward, turning to look at Gajeel. "He is?"

He shrugged. "It's his birthright."

Lucy's eyes flashed to the ground, and she chewed on the inside of her cheek. She hesitated for a moment before peering back up at the boy in the hospital cot.

She wasn't sure why, but the idea of Natsu leading the brotherhood made her stomach hurt.

Gajeel sighed. "He's always been hard on Natsu. That's why he's only a gladiator rank. He should be way higher—should've been placed higher because of who his dad was, and should've been promoted way further than that—but Igneel won't let him."

"Why? That's so unfair."

"It's just another form of training," Gajeel explained. "We're the muscle. By keeping him a gladiator, he's guaranteeing Natsu fights as much as possible. He doesn't want him to be weak."

"Right," Lucy murmured. "Still unfair."

She remembered what Igneel had screamed at Natsu, what he'd shouted at him during the fight. He'd repeatedly asked Natsu to prove he wasn't weak. He'd asked him to fight to show his strength.

"Then why are you only a gladiator?" Lucy asked, mind rehashing the first time they'd encountered each other, in the bar. Natsu had been the standout, but Gajeel was an impressive killer, too. Certainly not worthy of a low rank. "Is your dad hard on you, too?"

Gajeel laughed. " _My_ dad?" When he smiled, there were little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. "Nah—my dad's just about the opposite."

Lucy smiled, surprised. "He's nice?"

Gajeel grinned. "The nicest." He smiled to himself, clearly thinking fondly of his father. "He's the sweetest guy you'd ever meet. A gentle soul."

"A gentle soul?" Lucy repeated, snorting. "In a gang?"

He looked at her, that small smile still on his lips. "He's not supposed to be in the brotherhood."

Lucy gave him a look, clearly not understanding; Gajeel noticed, then explained.

"My mom—she was the one in the brotherhood." He scratched the back of his neck as he spoke, clearly a little shy when speaking of such intimate things. "Total badass. One of the Drache."

Lucy blinked, surprised. For some reason, she hadn't expected his _mother_ to be the parent in the gang. And she certainly didn't expect his mother to be a Drache, the brotherhood's elite rank.

Gajeel's eyes had a flicker of darkness in them when he looked at her. "She was a born killer. Promoted to Drache at seventeen."

"Wow," Lucy murmured.

"She met my dad when she was doing some undercover operations. And for whatever reason—she fell for him." He snorted. "He swept her off her feet."

Lucy found herself smiling.

"The brotherhood isn't a fan of people marrying out to non-members. Especially not to a dorky, clean-cut arts major like my dad." His eyes glanced down to the ground as he spoke. "They wouldn't allow them to be together—mom fought them with everything she had."

Lucy shook her head. "She's tough."

"I know, right?" He smirked. "I don't know what she did—but she worked out a deal. Dad had to join the brotherhood, and she was instantly demoted. She'd never be a Drache again."

"She gave it all up for your dad?"

"Yup—and they're still like that, all mushy and stuff. They're happy, I think. They don't get to be _normal_ , in a regular sense…but they've got each other." He paused, then continued. "Anyways—this was part of the deal. Any kids they had would face the consequences of her actions. I'm a permanent gladiator."

"Wow," Lucy said softly. "I'm sorry, Gajeel."

"Hey—don't worry about me!" He chuckled, a big hand of his patting her blonde head; she smiled and smacked his hand away. "I don't really care. Ranks don't matter to me. I'm just glad my parents got to be happy."

"Are they, though?" Lucy asked. "Isn't your dad unhappy—in the brotherhood?"

Gajeel frowned slightly as he thought about his response. "No, I don't think so. It wasn't what he imagined—but he got the girl of his dreams, so." He shrugged. "Balances out, I guess."

Lucy nodded.

It was strange thinking of a happy, loving marriage in the brotherhood. It was hard to think of Gajeel's mother, a once key member of the gang, falling in love. For so long, Lucy had viewed the gang and its members as people made of pure evil.

Lucy felt incredibly conflicted, unsure how to wrap her mind around this. This group—the brotherhood—did horrible things. Crime, violence, stealing, _murder_. They didn't just cause trouble with other gangs—they caused trouble for _everyone_. If anyone got in their way, they'd be dead. If anyone held them up even slightly, they'd be dead. Lucy knew this well, more than she should.

But they could be kind. Gajeel's mother—she gave everything up, risked it all, for the love of her life. Natsu…he'd saved her, spared her on several different occasions just because he felt he should.

She hated the brotherhood. But now, seeing this side of things—the humanity of it all—she couldn't quite commit to the hatred. She was beginning to doubt herself, her morals, her stance on everything. And the fact that she was doubting herself, doubting her disgust for the brotherhood—it made her feel sick.

But before she could think about it further, a nurse had come up behind the pair.

"He's awake, now. Might still be a little out of it and loopy from the dosage, but you can visit with him now." The nurse spoke to Gajeel, but she stared at Lucy, giving her a strange look.

Lucy was confused at first, but she slowly understood why the nurse was uneasy. Because she didn't belong here. She was just a girl that Salamander had plucked from the clutches of the shadows. She wasn't a member of the brotherhood, not even close. If anything, everyone else probably thought the same thing Gajeel initially had—that she was a spy for the shadows. The fact that the shadows attacked immediately after her arrival probably didn't dispute that.

Lucy sighed, pushing concerns about her safety to the back of her mind. Maybe she was in danger here, surrounded by members of a gang that clearly didn't trust her—but she was in far more danger away from them. If she were out there, back in the real world…the shadows would kill her instantly.

She turned back to the medical ward, her eyes flickering directly to the boy in the cot. She began to chew on the inside of her cheek, conflicted. She wanted to see him—but she was afraid to step forwards.

He'd been warming up to her. Slowly, bit by bit. He'd been speaking to her more—and when he did, he was restraining himself less and less. That mask he always wore, the mask of blankness…he hadn't been forcing it as much. It was small details, baby steps…but Lucy had noticed.

But standing there, watching him…she knew it would be different. The darkness that had begun to flicker in his eyes had spread, enveloping everything about him. His shoulders were held differently, his hands were balled in tense fists. His eyes were cold and angry, staring at the sheets on his lap.

Igneel had brought out his fury again. He'd been docile the last few days, and his father had pushed him back into a state of perpetual rage.

She was afraid to speak to him, worried that his fury would lash out at her.

"You go on ahead," Gajeel said, taking a step back, away from the medical ward. "I'll catch up in a minute."

Lucy frowned, eyes going wide. "Where are you going?" She pressed.

"Cafeteria," He called back as he headed down the dim hallway. "He's grumpy when he's hungry." He gave a wave without glancing back.

Lucy turned back to the medical ward, realizing she couldn't just stand here forever. Figuring she had no other options—she certainly wasn't going to wait an hour for Gajeel to return—she stepped forwards, entering the ward. She peered around as she walked towards Natsu's bed, realizing that the place was completely empty besides him.

At first, Lucy was impressed. A gang without any injuries—pretty impressive. But then Lucy realized that the only reason there weren't any injuries was because anyone involved in the last intrusion had been killed.

She quickly forced the thought out of her mind, making her way towards Natsu's station.

He saw her coming. He'd noticed her when she'd made it to the third bed from the door; he was situated further back, on the thirteenth bed. He didn't speak, just watched as she quietly made her way towards him.

Lucy let out a little breath, pulling to a stop at the end of his bed. There, she finally forced herself to look into his eyes; the eye contact made her fiddle anxiously with the hem of her shirt, but she wouldn't let herself look away.

Natsu looked at her, not breaking the eye contact either. After three minutes of absolute silence, he mumbled, "Aren't you gonna sit?" His voice was cracked and dry and raspy. But worst of all, the darkness had gotten him there, too—it was in his voice, in the lines of his face, now.

Lucy blinked, nodding; she pulled herself around the bed, sitting in the chair closest to him. Her brown eyes looked to him, searching him.

Bruised, beaten, battered. Everything about him looked rough. She couldn't imagine how much pain he was in right now, even with the doses of medication the nurses had supplied. Lucy had seen the beating, seen the hits he'd gotten on his throat and his ribs. The memories made her flinch.

That fury was there, clear as day. She'd seen hints of it since first encountering him, but she'd never seen it like this. It was a constant force, clear in every single aspect of him; it was like it filled his muscles, filled his bloodstream. He radiated anger, frustrated and fiery. He looked ready to kill. It scared her.

"How are you feeling?" Lucy said, voice coming out as a small whisper.

His hands tightened into fists, and he rolled his eyes. "Don't do that," He muttered, anger spitting at the words. "I know what you want to ask—just say it."

Lucy blinked, surprised by the venom in his voice. But still, she knew the anger wasn't directed at her.

He was right, though. She had one thing on her mind, one thing she desperately wanted to know about—but she'd figured it was too intimate, something off limits. But he called her on it, and she was curious and upset and afraid, and she was whispering the words before she could stop herself.

"Igneel's your father?"

Natsu's eyes flashed to hers; he almost seemed to be waiting for her response, waiting to see how she reacted to the truth. "Yes."

"That's…interesting," She sputtered, not knowing what else to say.

His eyebrows tugged down and even more fury bubbled to the surface of his expression. She'd never seen so much emotion on his face—he usually kept himself under that mask of blankness. Maybe it was the medication, wearing down his ability to cover up how he felt. "Say it, then."

Lucy made a face, confused. "Say what?"

"Say I'm a monster." He didn't meet her eyes.

She fell quiet, searching his face. She watched as anger and sadness clouded his eyes, watched as he tried his best to suffocate the emotions but ultimately failed to do so. It took her a long moment, but when she spoke, her voice was soft.

"I don't think you're a monster."

Natsu's dark eyes flickered to her, and the darkness was heavy, now. "Don't lie." His fists tightened, and even more blood seeped into his bandages.

"I'm not," She replied, voice a bit stronger, now. "Why would I?"

"Because you know, now," He muttered under his breath, turning his gaze back to the white sheets on his lap. He laid his fist down roughly on the sheet, the blood seeping through his gauze smearing across the crisp whiteness. He gritted his teeth, jaw clenching. "You know what I am."

"And what are you, exactly?"

Hatred burnt through his gaze. He glared at the blood-stained sheets. "The future leader of the brotherhood."

She couldn't make sense of the anger pouring out of every pore in his body. She couldn't understand why this made him so mad, why her knowing what he was made a difference. Mostly, she couldn't understand why being the leader of the brotherhood would make him so furious.

But the next second it clicked in her mind, and she looked to him.

"You don't want to be the leader of the brotherhood?"

His head turned slightly, eyes shifting to her. That question made the looming darkness in his expression crash down, blooming onto his face abruptly. He hesitated; it took him a full thirty seconds to respond. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Lucy repeated.

"It's difficult," He spat. "You don't understand."

"Then explain it to me."

"I can't," He said, and it was almost like he was choking on the words. He looked straight ahead, now, avoiding Lucy's gaze. There was a long hesitation, a whole minute of silence, before he sputtered out, "It won't make sense to you."

Lucy narrowed her eyes. "Why wouldn't it make sense to me?"

He seemed like he wanted to speak, but no sound came from his lips; he was frozen there, in an internal battle with himself, for several long moments. Finally, his dark eyes flickered to her, and he spoke. "Do you know much about Igneel?"

Lucy swallowed, surprised by the now reserved, quiet tone of his voice. This was a touchy subject for him—she could see it in his eyes. "No," She answered honestly. "I've researched him—for an article—but nothing really came up about him."

Natsu's jaw locked tight. "His nickname is the Fire Dragon."

Lucy's head cocked itself to the side slightly. "Why?"

He began to fiddle with the dressings on his hand. "He threw a coup when he was fifteen years old." The words spilled from his lips, tinged with anger.

"He was young," Lucy noted.

Natsu nodded in response. "He started a revolution. Overthrew the leaders." He paused. "Won the support of his peers, and took the leadership of the brotherhood by his bare hands."

Lucy watched the boy as he spoke, watched as he tried to contain the anger in his blood.

He continued, voice strained. "The old leaders, we call them the Schwache now—it means _weak ones_." He swallowed, his voice gravelly and rocky from the damage done to his throat. "They gave the throne up immediately. They didn't even fight for it. They chose to spare themselves. They promised Igneel the throne if he spared their lives."

Lucy frowned, watching the boy's fists tighten.

"Do you know what he did?" Natsu asked, looking at her brown eyes.

Lucy shook her head.

"He slaughtered them anyways." His jaw strained. "Gathered the Schwache and their children and their wives in the Drache's suite and set it on fire."

Lucy's mouth opened, and she gasped quietly.

The darkness in the boy's eyes flickered like a flame. "He burnt them all to a crisp."

"But why?" Lucy asked, the horror in her voice apparent. "Why the children and the wives?"

"He wanted everyone associated with the Schwache to burn," He muttered, but his voice was like a whisper, coarse and raspy. "Anyone who loved them, looked up to them—he wanted them all dead. He didn't think anyone so weak deserved a legacy."

The story made Lucy's heartbeat pick up, made her veins buzz with fear. This was the first real piece of information Lucy had ever gotten on Igneel, and it was just as horrific as every single rumor she'd heard about him. He _was_ ruthless—and only at age fifteen.

Natsu turned back to his hands, to the stained sheets. "He's the best the brotherhood has ever had." He swallowed, his voice dropping deeper. "He wants me to be better than him."

Lucy looked at him, eyes wide. She was beginning to understand why Natsu was so… _dark_. With a father like that…how could you not be?

"Do _you_ want to be?"

He looked at her. "I don't have a choice."

She blinked, a frown taking over her expression. "Everyone has a choice."

"Not in the brotherhood," He muttered, shaking his head. "Not when you're the flame dragon's son."

Lucy fell quiet for a long moment. She supposed this was what he meant about it not making sense to her—there were things she just wouldn't understand. To her, it was simple: don't listen to Igneel. Make your own choices. Follow your heart. But then again, she'd lived a very different life. Raised by her loving journalist father who encouraged her to live her life to the fullest, she'd grown up in an extremely different world.

"Why's your nickname Salamander?"

He let out a little breath. "I tried to kill Igneel."

Lucy's eyes went wide. "You _what?_ "

"I was six."

Her jaw dropped. "You tried to kill your dad when you were _six_?" She blinked, stuttering. " _Why?_ "

He didn't meet her eyes. "He killed my mom."

Lucy felt her heart fall in her chest, felt that old familiar pull in her stomach. Her eyes softened, and she watched as a mixture of fury and absolute heartbreak spilled into his eyes. And finally, _finally_ , the anger made sense. The resentment made sense. He was just a broken boy who'd lost his mom.

And Lucy didn't know how to respond, so she did what she would do for a friend—she leaned forwards and rested her hand on top of his.

Natsu flinched, his dark eyes turning to look at her immediately. He seemed confused by the kindness in her touch, by the warmth in her eyes. Still, he didn't pull his hand away.

"I'm sorry you lost your mother," Lucy whispered, and she felt herself getting emotional. Because she'd been there, too. She'd felt a similar loss. "I know it must've been hard for you."

He watched her, and everything was crystal clear in his eyes—her kindness was strange for him; her gentle words of sorrow about his mother's death touched him to his very core. He swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing, and he gritted his teeth, trying to contain the strange emotions flooding him.

Her curiosity was getting to her. Why, in god's name, would a man kill his own wife? Why would a father tear a mother away from her son? Why would Igneel murder Natsu's mother?

It took him a second to form his next words. His voice was deeper now, but not in a dark way; it was soft. "It's okay," He murmured, still acutely aware that her hand was still resting on his. He seemed to understand that spark in her eyes, in the way her eyebrows pulled down. "You can ask."

Lucy found it strange how well he understood her—with just a look, he knew what she wanted to ask. "Why did he do it?" Lucy whispered. "How could he do that?"

His eyes were still dark, still heavy, but the looming sadness seemed to outweigh everything else; his shoulders dropped like he was carrying weight on his back. "She was a traitor," He grumbled. "A spy for the shadows."

"The entire time?" Lucy questioned. "Or just turned?"

Natsu blinked, eyes flickering downwards. "The entire time."

"How did he find out?"

"There were a few members of the shadows that had infiltrated the brotherhood," He explained. "They'd worked their way in deep—some were Drache. They gained Igneel's trust. They learnt everything he had planned. And my mother—she learned everything about him."

He continued, the sadness pronounced in his tone. "They'd communicate it back to the shadows. They were subtle about it, though—sometimes they'd wait months or even a year to meet and relay information. It was never uniform, never consistent."

Lucy listened intently, suddenly starting to feel _bad_ for Igneel. It was incredible how quickly her perspective could change from one second to the next.

"Igneel was frustrated—the shadows seemed a step ahead, sometimes. He'd want to invest in a certain market, but the shadows already monopolized it. He wanted to purchase some land, but the shadows had already put in an offer. It wasn't with everything—but it was enough to make Igneel suspicious."

Lucy nodded, urging him on.

"He loved his wife, but he loved the brotherhood more. He went behind everyone's backs—had people tail every member of the Drache and their significant others." His voice was strained, now. "Three were spies—one of those being my mother."

Lucy felt her heart ache. To be betrayed by your own wife…it would be horrible. "Poor Igneel."

"He killed her right in front of me," Natsu murmured, voice going weak. He didn't look at Lucy, didn't even look in her general direction. "He brought her to me, beaten and bloody, and he asked me to kill her." His head fell, and he glanced down at his bloody knuckles once more. He almost looked…ashamed.

Lucy sucked in a breath, horrified by his words.

"I couldn't do it. I was too young—I didn't know what it meant, I didn't know what she'd done." His words were tumbling out now, getting angrier by the second. "That was my mom. I couldn't kill my mom."

The pain was clear in his eyes; he looked down, trying to hide it from Lucy.

"I just remember—her begging me to save her, and him demanding I kill her." He breathed in deeply. "I just curled into a ball on the ground, and—he was furious with me. Slit her throat and then came for me."

"Came for you?"

"Probably to beat me. I don't know, he didn't really get the chance—I just snapped."

Lucy's expression was tangled with concern. "What happened?"

Natsu looked at Lucy, and it was like he was reliving that moment again. Fear, anger, horror—it was in his eyes. "I tried to kill him. Took his knife out of his pocket and stabbed him in the neck. I think he must've been hurt, killing her like that—it's the only way I can explain me being able to land that blow." He let out a small breath. "If you see his neck—he's got a scar. It was me."

Lucy could just imagine Natsu as a little boy, just six years old, experiencing that. Watching father haul his mother's beaten body into the room, watching as Igneel screamed at Natsu to finish her off. Hearing his mother scream for mercy, only to be slaughtered right before him.

Six years old. _Six years old_.

She looked at the boy in front of her. A few days ago, she'd hated him. She'd thought he was a monster. She'd assumed he was a careless killer, a murderer without emotions. But he wasn't—he was as much a person as she was. And she felt guilty for ever assuming anything about him, because he'd been through traumatic things. He'd been raised in a traumatic world, with only chaos surrounding him.

And that darkness she'd seen in him, the darkness she'd constantly questioned—she didn't question it anymore. She didn't need to. It was incredibly clear how troubled he was, how much he'd been hurt.

Her heart ached in her chest, and she squeezed his hand.

Salamander. The brotherhood's best. Son of the flame dragon. The future leader of Fiore's most dangerous gang.

A broken, hurt little boy.

He peered down at her hand squeezing his. And yeah, it hurt, because his hand was fucked—but he didn't dare grimace in pain, because if she let go, he knew he'd break down. But that touch—that warm, tender touch…it did something to him that had never been done. He'd never been held like this before, not ever. His mom had hugged him and she'd loved him in her own kind of way, but he'd never been treated with absolute _softness_ before.

He hated that this girl felt sorry for him. He hated that anyone in this world would feel sorry for him—he didn't need pity, he didn't need sympathy. He wasn't weak. He didn't need pity. He wasn't weak.

And he wanted to throw her hand away from his, and he wanted to tell her not to pity him, and he wanted to tell her that he wasn't weak, _he wasn't weak_ —but he couldn't form the words and he couldn't move a muscle. Because her touch was so gentle, so tender, so warm, and he was just a broken six year old boy who'd seen his mother killed before his eyes. He was just a member of a gang who couldn't bring himself to kill a traitor. He'd failed his mom and he'd failed his dad and he'd fail this girl too, probably, like he failed everybody.

Because he was weak.

"I'm sorry," The girl whispered to him, and he could hear the horror and pain in her voice. "I'm so sorry, Natsu."

He froze, his entire body tensing up. He looked at her, his dark eyes peering deep into her brown ones. She'd called him that before, too—after the fight. He'd been fucked up and dazed, but he'd remembered it.

Natsu. _Natsu, Natsu, Natsu_.

There were two people in his entire life that had called him that. His mother and Gajeel, and no one else. He'd always been Igneel's son or The Future King or Salamander.

His mother, Gajeel, and this girl.

He didn't mind.

"So, your father…that's why you don't want to be the leader of the brotherhood?"

His eyes turned back to her hand, still squeezing his hand. "Not really," He admitted, and then proceeded to wonder why he was admitting _any_ of this.

She seemed confused. She always seemed confused by his responses—more proof that she'd come from a better world, a better life. "Then what is it?"

"Because I hate it," He whispered. "The training, the fighting, the killing. I hate it."

Her eyes were so brown, so big. "Why don't you leave?" She whispered back, like their conversation was a secret between just the two of them. "Why don't you just run away?"

He breathed out of his nose.

She was so naïve, so innocent. She had no idea of what he was capable of, of what the brotherhood was capable of. He couldn't just run away—no one could. People have tried to run away, and no one's succeeded. They'd hunt him until they found him. Igneel would never let him walk away.

But that wasn't the only reason he couldn't leave.

Natsu shook his head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

His dark eyes met hers, and the look in them made her heart stop in absolute fear.

"Because I love it too much."

"Love _what?_ " Lucy asked.

His jaw was tight, his body tense. "The training, the fighting." He paused, looking to her, waiting for her response to his words. "The killing."

Lucy pulled back, brown eyes wide. She didn't understand—she couldn't comprehend how he could possible hate and love things at the same time. And she certainly couldn't understand how he could love something as awful as _killing_.

Her hand slipped off of his as she retreated, fear echoing in her gaze.

His lips twisted up into a smile, but it wasn't really a happy expression—it was still that broken little boy, that hurt little boy who'd seen awful things. But that darkness was mixed in, now. Somehow broken and somehow incredibly strong. Delicate, but disgustingly unbreakable. He was a man of contradictions.

"I told you," He spoke, and his words were gentle but tinted with that fury, that darkness. "I'm a monster."

"I don't believe that," She shot back without hesitation. She wasn't sure _why_ she didn't believe him. He'd given her many reasons to support him being a monster—the various murders he'd committed in her presence, the horrific childhood he had, the fact that he said he loved to kill—but it still didn't settle right with her.

Because despite the darkness in his eyes, there was warmth. It was hidden deep and shrouded by the cloudiness, but it was there.

He looked at her, eyes narrowing. "You're wrong, then."

"If you're such a monster—why did you save me?"

That question seemed to stump him; he kept eye contact with her but his eyes narrowed as he struggled to come up with a response. He opened his mouth, but no sounds came out; seconds later, he closed his mouth, lips twisting into a confused pout.

Lucy raised her eyebrows. "See?" She said, as if it were clear. "Not a monster."

"I didn't save you to do a good deed," He muttered.

"Then why did you?"

"I told you—you were weak."

Lucy crossed her arms. "And you can't bear to watch something weak die. How monstrous of you."

There was a spark of light in his eyes, amused by her persistence. "So saving one weak thing makes me a good person?"

"Yes," Lucy shot back stubbornly. "I think so."

"What's killing thousands make me, then?"

Now it was Lucy's time to fall quiet, stumped by his question. Her eyebrows shrouded her eyes as she frowned, processing his words. As much as she would've loved to shoot back another witty remark, she was taken aback by what he'd said. She frowned up at him. "Thousands?" She whispered. "You've killed _thousands_?"

He saw the horror in her eyes and the spark of amusement in his expression snuffed out. She couldn't tell what the look on his face was— _guilt?_ Shame, mixed with his regular dose of fury?

"Roughly."

Lucy's eyes grew wider. "How many?"

"I don't keep count."

"Estimate, then."

His jaw flexed. "I don't know."

"Two thousand—more or less?"

He was quiet for a long while before muttering out, "More."

Lucy looked down, her hands in her lap; she repeated his words in her mind over and over. After another minute, she looked up at him. " _Why?_ "

Natsu looked at her, and he found himself surprised to see her eyes were wet.

She wasn't crying, but she was emotional. Upset at the loss of life of people she'd never known. Almost in tears because strangers had died. He couldn't comprehend the compassion.

He shrugged; he didn't have an answer for her. There were too many reasons why he'd killed the number of people he'd killed—members of rival gangs, people who got in the way, police that dug too deep. "Because I have to."

"Because of your dad?" She asked. "Or because you want to?"

"Both."

"How can you want that?" Lucy whispered, voice shaky and emotional. Her eyes were getting more and more wet. He shifted in his cot, uncomfortable by her nearly in tears. "How can you enjoy killing someone?"

He felt his stomach twist, felt the shame pierce his gut like a blade. His voice was low when he spoke. "I know I shouldn't," He murmured, watching the tears well up in her eyes. "And I fucking hate it. It hurts me every time—it's like you can feel it, too. You can feel when they take their last breath and it's like a bullet to my fucking head."

He sucked in a breath, not taking his eyes off of her. "But it's what I was born to do, and he always said if I didn't do it I was weak, and If I'm weak I'm nothing, and—" He stopped mid-sentence, pausing, and then restarting. "And that's bullshit, I know, because I can't blame it all on him. He started it, but I don't stop it. Each time, it's like it tears me apart and puts me back together. I fucking hate it, but I love it. It's what I am."

"Don't you feel bad?" Lucy pushed, her shaky whispers asking more questions. His words made her hands ball up into fists, made her knuckles go white. She was upset—because she'd experienced death before, experienced the loss that came with it. She'd felt the pain of losing a loved one.

"Of course," He spat back. "I can't sleep at night—every life I've taken haunts me. I told you—I'm a monster, even if you don't think I am. And I hate that I am. I don't want to be. I don't want to kill another person. I don't want to be scared of myself. Each one…it weighs on me. I can feel them all."

He tightened his fist and lightly hit the mattress beside his thigh. "But I'm not weak. And I know he thinks I am, but I'm not weak. Because I can kill and I can hurt people, and I fucking love to do it. It's a rush—it's addicting. You get a taste for it the better you get at it. And I don't think I can stop, now."

Lucy watched the boy, watched him express his internal conflict. To kill, or not to kill. He hated it but he loved it. He's repulsed by it, but he was born to do it. A monster, but also a savior.

He was being torn apart by the conflict, it was easy to see. The pain was clear in his eyes, written on his face. He didn't know which side to listen to, which side to obey. The light or the dark.

And maybe she could've cringed further away. Maybe she could've been repulsed by his conflict. But she wasn't—because the small glimpses she'd had into his childhood, based off of his word and Gajeel's had shown her why he was so conflicted. He'd been raised into this world, a natural born killer. If anything, it was a miracle he'd come to hate the violence.

Lucy leaned forward, and again, placed her hand on his.

This time, it shocked him. After everything, after all he'd told her—she still trusted him, still gave him that touch of warmth and tenderness. She wasn't afraid of him. She didn't fear him, didn't treat him like the monster he was.

Natsu looked at her, and the confusion clouded his vision.

Lucy smiled at him. Because despite it all, he'd saved her. He'd been raised to kill and he saved her, for no real reason. He could've left her to die or killed her himself, but he chose to spare her. And she had faith that he would listen to his right self, that he would pick the right side.

Because he'd saved her.

"You're not a monster," She whispered again, relaying what she'd been telling him all night. "Not to me."

He didn't know what to say or how to say it, and he didn't know what he was feeling, so he just grabbed her hand. He squeezed it, like she'd squeezed his, and he hoped that was enough to let her know that he was grateful for her kindness.

A voice spoke, but it wasn't hers, and Natsu's head snapped up to face it.

"Uh—okay, I've clearly walked in on something important here. But I brought burritos, so hope you guys don't mind." Gajeel stood at the end of the cot, two large brown bags in either palm. His cheeks were a bit red and he looked flustered, obviously embarrassed to interrupt whatever was going on here.

Lucy laughed, smiling up at Gajeel. "You're not," She said with a laugh. "Come on. I'm starving."

Gajeel took a seat beside Lucy, reaching into the brown bag and pulling out a thick burrito; he handed it to the girl. "Ladies first."

Lucy smelled the burrito, grinning down at the foil-wrapped monstrosity. "Smells delicious."

Gajeel reached into the bag again, and held a burrito out to Natsu. As he did so, he looked into his best friend's eyes.

And he saw the pain and the hurting and the darkness, and Gajeel knew. He knew what they'd talked about—because he'd seen those things on Natsu's face before. And he knew his best friend was struggling, like he always had been.

But there was something different in Natsu's eyes, something Gajeel hadn't seen before.

A tiny, small sliver of hope. A speck of light amongst the storm clouds.

Natsu took the burrito, giving his best friend a nod. A quick little movement, something to assure Gajeel that he was alright. He looked at the burrito, then at Lucy, and smiled.

Gajeel blinked, looking at Natsu and then at the girl.

She'd unwrapped her burrito and was expressing her shock at how big it was—after all, he;d ordered jumbo sized ones. And she was smiling down at it, her nose wrinkling as she laughed.

He looked back at Natsu, watching him smile at the girl.

Gajeel pulled out his own burrito, feeling bad for _ever_ suggesting they kill Lucy. After all, he'd never seen a smile like _that_ on Natsu's face. Smiles, sure, and laughs, too—but nothing like that. That smile had been from the soul.

The trio ate their burritos, talking with their mouths full, completely unaware that their little bubble of happiness would burst within the day.

 **A/N: Holy long chapter. Hope you like it! Please review-I'm super nervous about this story and I hope I'm doing an okay job. Thank you all for reading! :)**


	9. Love and Affection

Natsu watched the girl talk, watched the way she paid extreme attention when Gajeel spoke. He blinked, carefully watching how her expression twisted from curious interest into a bright smile. He watched the way her lips twisted up, watched the way she clasped her hands together as she laughed.

Mostly, he watched the calculation in her eyes. She was planning it all—it was a perfectly executed act. And maybe she wasn't aware of it, but that's what it was—an act. She read the room before her and thought before she spoke, before she moved—each laugh was careful, each twist of her body and smirk flashing across her lips was careful.

She was smart. A journalist. She knew how to get answers, knew how to say things and get what she wanted. And she could light up her eyes and flick her wrist and move her lips in just the right way, just the right way to get people to trust her and believe her. So she could get what she wanted.

He wasn't an idiot. He knew better. He knew it was an act—because he'd been taught the same thing. How to speak, how to ask questions, how to pry information out of someone. It wasn't the same for him—he couldn't flash a smile and earn someone's trust, but he could crack their skull and make them bleed until they gave him what he wanted.

They weren't that different, him and this girl. Completely opposite, from different worlds. But at the same time, similar.

They'd been kicked out of the medical ward. The nurses had heard them all talking and laughing and booted them out, saying that Natsu was medicated enough to handle the pain in the comfort of his own room. But, of course, he knew better than to believe them—he could see the anxiety in their eyes when they looked at Lucy. They didn't trust the outsider, just like the rest of the brotherhood didn't.

They didn't approve of outsiders. Especially not ones found on the floor of the shadows' home base.

So, they'd left, and began wandering the halls of the iceberg. And it felt easy, like this, just the three of them—it felt like they were normal. Like they were kids ditching school, just spending time together.

Natsu tried to suffocate the happiness in his lungs. Because something like this—feeling free, feeling _normal_ —was something he'd thought of his entire life.

They walked around for hours, talking about nothing in particular. It was late—late enough that they rarely encountered other members. And when they did, the members would give Natsu a nod—because he was Salamander, their future king—and gave Lucy strange, untrusting looks. She pretended not to notice, and the boys didn't mention anything.

Salamander was quiet. He listened to Gajeel and Lucy talk, occasionally chiming in or laughing at what they were saying. He couldn't help it—there was something awkward in his bones, something uncomfortable that he didn't want to address.

He seemed hesitant—shy, maybe—after revealing such intimate details of his own past. He didn't appear to be comfortable with sharing information like that; even hours after he'd said it, he seemed to shift funny in his seat like he couldn't bear it.

Because he couldn't. His entire life, everyone had been in on the secret. His rough childhood, being pushed so hard by his father, being pushed to be the best—everyone in the brotherhood had witnessed it, but didn't dare speak up because any words spoken against Igneel would end in death. The brotherhood watched Natsu slowly become what Igneel wanted, slowly watched him become a cold hearted killer. They slowly watched him become Salamander.

But out of the entire brotherhood, there was only one person that Natsu had ever talked to about it. He'd made one single friend, one person he could be honest with. He trusted one single person, and that was it.

Gajeel.

Gajeel was the only person who'd known this side of his life—how much he hated it, how much he was addicted to it. Gajeel was the only person Natsu had ever trusted enough to say those things to. And he'd understood—he didn't feel the same way, but he was a good friend and he _understood_. And that had been that.

But now _she_ knew too, and that was too much for him. One more person he'd confided in with his deepest, darkest feelings, and he couldn't bear it. It was too much trust, too much faith in one single person. Of course, there was no one she could tell but the fact that she _knew_ things about him made him want to slit someone's throat.

He was vulnerable, for the first time, and he hated it.

Her act—because it was an act, and he knew it—had still got him. She'd asked questions and twisted her words and he'd given her everything she'd wanted—information. Information about him, about his childhood, about his feelings. She'd asked about intimate things and he'd just gone and told her—maybe because deep down he _wanted_ to be vulnerable. Every twitch of concern of hers was an act, and he was well aware, but he'd given in to it. He hadn't stopped it. He didn't know why.

But there was a lot of things he wasn't sure about with her. He didn't know why he let her ask so much, didn't know why he told her everything he had, didn't know why he'd bothered saving her to begin with.

Maybe he'd been telling the truth, this whole time—maybe it was because she was weak and small and little and he couldn't stand seeing something so fragile be crushed by the force of the brotherhood yet again. Or maybe it was because, after he'd killed those men, she'd been so afraid and flinched away from him and vomited because she was so fucking scared. Scared of _him_ , because he was a monster. And maybe, for a split second, he'd been so angry that he could scare this girl—maybe seeing her cower away from him made flames boil in his veins. Just a few flicks of his wrist, and men were dropping to the floor, and this girl was puking in fear. And maybe that look in her eyes, the horror in her gaze, made his chest burn, made him want to stop killing and kill everyone all at once.

Or maybe it was because there was something strangely familiar about her, something he couldn't understand. Something warm.

Gajeel started to yawn, exhausted, so the trio made their way back to the dorm rooms. They walked Gajeel to his room, and he leaned on the doorframe as he said goodnight to them. Lucy had smiled up at him, eyes warm, and wished him a good sleep. Gajeel had blinked—because his dad used to say that to him, when he was young, when he was staying with his parents and wasn't a gladiator—and then waved before stepping into his room and closing the door.

"So," Lucy huffed out a little breath, turning to Natsu. Her expression was soft and gentle, like it always was. It was a strange thing to see, for the boy. He was used to frowns. "I'm bunking with you?"

He looked at her. Her posture was different when she was alone with him—somehow tense, but calmer. The calculation and carefulness wasn't in her eyes anymore. She was more genuine, now, with him. She wasn't planning ahead. "Yeah," He murmured. "I'll take the floor. You can have the bed."

She laughed a little at that, then shook her head. They started to walk down the hallway, towards Natsu's room. "You don't have to do that. You should have the bed."

Natsu glanced at her. "Why?" He asked, confused by her amusement.

Lucy gestured to him, to the slight limp he had as he walked. He was looking better—the swelling in his face had gone down plenty, enough that he'd begun to look like himself—but his ribs were bruised and beaten, and his knuckles were still shattered. The drugs the nurses had given him would wear off soon, and the pain would settle into his bones. It was just a matter of time. "You're hurt."

Natsu blinked, looking down at his body briefly. He was still shirtless, and the bruises splattered across his ribcage and chest had begun to turn various color. He made a face. "This is nothing."

Compared to what he'd had in the past—this _was_ nothing. It wasn't the first time Igneel had thrust him into a fight, and it certainly wasn't the worst beating he'd gotten from his father. Broken knuckles, bruised ribs…that _was_ nothing.

"What?" Lucy frowned. "Look at you—you're in pain."

He shrugged. "It's not a big deal." He rarely went a day without an injury of some kind.

He could see it flicker in her eyes—the curiosity, the urge to ask further. The look of calculation snapped into place, the journalistic side of her pushing forwards; but she paused, blinked, and the look washed away. Her usual softness returned.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, tough guy. You get the bed—please."

Natsu turned towards the door to his room. "Fine." He grabbed the keys from his pocket, shoving it into the keyhole and unlocking the room. Every room in the brotherhood's bases had locks—members were very private. He stepped into the room, letting out a sigh.

Lucy peered around. It was very plain, very boring. A small room with a desk in the far corner, the bed against the left wall. A door leading to a bathroom to the right, the closet doors beside it. On the bed was Natsu's packed bag, where he'd stuffed all of his photos—someone must have dropped it off for him when they'd arrived.

Natsu stepped over to his bag, digging around in it; he grabbed some clothes and threw them at Lucy. She blinked, surprised, and caught them. She peered up at him, confused.

There was a flash of amusement in his eyes, and a tiny smirk worked its way onto his lips. He always seemed to confuse her. "Thought you might like some pyjamas."

"Oh," Lucy blinked again, looking at the clothes in her hands. A soft shirt and some shorts. "Right. Thank you. I'll just, uh… get changed, then."

Natsu snorted at how clearly awkward she was. He turned back to his bag, trying to hide how much his smirk had widened into a grin. "Okay."

Lucy felt her cheeks go hot, her entire face and neck flush; she spun on the balls of her feet, quickly turning and heading into the washroom. She closed the door behind her, letting out a tense breath through her lips—she wasn't sure why, but he made her incredibly nervous. Calm, but nervous. It made no sense.

She shook her head, trying to gather herself; she pulled off her clothes, quickly slipping into the new clothes Natsu had given her. They fit strangely on her—loose in some places, tight in others—but it was good enough to sleep in.

She looked at herself in the mirror and gasped audibly at how terrible she looked. Her cheeks went red again, embarrassment flushing through her. She'd spent hours with those boys looking like _this?_ She frowned, brushing her fingers through her hair; she ran some water over her fingers and wiped her face clean.

She realized how stupid she was, trying to look nice for _gangsters_. Lucy paused, putting her head in her hands, realizing how stupid this entire situation was. She wanted to go home, to soak in her own tub, to make herself some tea in her own kettle. But she couldn't, and she knew that, and she shoved thought about her home and Levy to the back of her mind because if she thought about it too hard, she'd cry. She stood there, in that bathroom, for a few long seconds, her head in her hands.

She gathered her worn, crumpled clothes from the floor in her arms and returned to the bedroom.

To her surprise, the boy had already made himself a bed on the floor. A thin blanket sprawled out on the middle of the ground, a flat little pillow beneath his head. He was shirtless, now, and in a different pair of shorts—the fact that he'd stripped and changed here made Lucy's neck go red again—and laying flat on his back.

When Lucy came out of the bathroom, he tilted his head back, peering up at her. And even though she'd nearly had a breakdown in the bathroom five seconds ago, his innocent little glance made her laugh. He looked like a little kid here, like he was innocent and he'd never been hurt.

She shook her head. "You were supposed to take the bed."

A small smile touched his lips, made it past his mask of emptiness. "Oops."

Lucy pressed her lips together, trying to stuff away the smile breaking onto her expression. "Lights off?" She asked, looking down to him.

He hesitated for a moment, and that hesitancy flickered onto his face. His eyes shot to the light switch by the door, his eyebrows pulling down for a split second. He seemed to be arguing with himself internally about the lights being off.

Because she was an outsider. Not a member of the brotherhood. And he'd been taught his entire life that outsiders were risks, that he could only trust the brotherhood. It had been propaganda, he was old enough to understand that—but it still stuck with him. The lessons he'd been taught were manipulative, but they weren't wrong.

She was an outsider and he'd saved her even though he didn't know why, and now he'd have to be alone with her in a room with the lights off. His mind did calculations, running through every risk present in the scenario. He thought about every possible outcome, and nearly all of them ended in him being killed or attacked or _something_ —because that's what he was taught to do. Eliminate as many threats as possible, and be prepared for what you can't stop.

"Um," He sputtered out after a long few moments. "Yeah, sure."

He bit the inside of his cheek. He didn't trust easily, and this was certainly pushing it. But he did, and he gave his trust to her, and he still didn't know why. Half of him was furious, screaming mad at himself for letting something so risky happen—the other half desperately yearned for vulnerability, for honesty and closeness and her warmth.

She nodded, smiling, and flicked off the lights; the room fell completely dark.

His body was tense and he dug his nails into the side of his leg to keep from pulling into a defensive stance.

Lucy felt her way to the bed, unable to see in the complete blackness; she stubbed her toe on the wire frame, and let out a gasp of pain. "Ow," She muttered, grumbling under her breath. She hobbled forwards toward the bed, sprawling out on it while the pain radiated from her toe. "That hurt."

His voice was quiet, reserved. "You okay?" There was darkness in his voice—like the darkness from the room had awoken it in him.

Lucy winced, holding her toe as she flopped onto her back in the bed. "Yes—just stubbed my toe."

It was quiet for a long moment before she heard him chuckle; it was a warm sound, something she wasn't really used to hearing from him. She couldn't help but smile in response. He breathed out through his nose, laughing. "You're clumsy."

"Not everyone can be a trained ninja."

"Ninja?" He said with a laugh, and the darkness seemed to slip from his voice. She almost wished she could see his face—she wanted to see his expression, his eyes, when he smiled. "I couldn't be a ninja."

"Why not? You basically are one, aren't you?"

He snorted. "I'm not so good with the sneaky stuff."

Lucy thought back to each time she'd witnessed Natsu kill someone. He was right—each time it had been very noisy, very vocal, very not-ninja like. "That's fair."

A gentle silence fell between them for a while, as they both settled into their beds. Lucy shifted, throwing herself beneath the blankets on the bed; Natsu rolled onto his side slightly, then rolled back, wincing in annoyance as his bruised ribs protested.

"You okay?" Lucy asked, voice small. She thought back to each punch to his body, reviewed the footage of the fight stored in her mind. It made her cringe into her pillow. How could he handle this pain so well?

He grunted as he flopped onto his back, returning to his previous position. It was uncomfortable, too—the ground was hard against his injured frame. "Yeah."

Lucy flipped onto her stomach, turning to face him. It was dark, still—too dark for her to see. But it felt right, facing him like this. "Are you worried?" She asked.

"About what?"

"About the war," She murmured softly, "And dealing with all of that when you're injured."

Natsu fell quiet. Of course, he'd taken that all into consideration—he'd been thinking about his injuries affecting things ever since they'd happened. But he'd fought with injuries before, and it was nothing new. That was part of the job. Igneel had prepared him for this long ago.

But her asking this question, asking about the war—it made him realize that she'd been worried about it. He'd figured she'd forgotten about the shadows and the impending threat—because she was an outsider, she wasn't used to this, she'd be overwhelmed with everything else going on.

But she wasn't. She took in everything—being taken by the brotherhood, the confusion behind all of that, the attack from the shadows, the war, the fight with Igneel, the move from base to base—and kept it locked in her memory. She didn't forget. She didn't get overwhelmed.

He'd underestimated her.

"No," He responded, and it was the truth. "It won't slow me down."

"Oh. Okay."

His eyebrows pulled down as his expression morphed into a frown. "Are you worried?"

"Of course," She said, like it was obvious. "The shadows are coming. And I can't protect myself."

"Hey—that's not true. You can disarm someone now."

"Yeah, if they move extra slow and practically let me do it." She sighed. "I'm not good enough."

Natsu blinked up at the ceiling. "We'll practice more, if that makes you feel better."

Lucy nodded. "Can you teach me some more moves?"

His voice was softer than it normally was, and it made his jaw lock tight. Because he shouldn't be soft, he shouldn't be comforting—that was weakness on display. But he couldn't help it, because she was here in his room and afraid, and for whatever goddamn reason, he had to protect her, like he had been since the start. "Sure."

She let out a breath, and she felt a bit better now. "Thanks."

"You've still got that knife?"

Lucy nodded. "It's with my other clothes," She replied, "By the bathroom."

She heard his body moving, heard the blankets shuffle as he went to the pile of clothes. When he spoke, his voice was close to her head; he'd made his way over to the bed. "Here," He spoke, voice deep. He held the handle of the knife out, touching her arm with it. "Keep it with you at all times."

Lucy pulled herself up onto an elbow, turning to face him. It was still too dark to see—her eyes were adjusting slowly. She reached out and touched the handle of the knife, grabbing it. The small details felt familiar on her fingertips. "Even when I sleep?"

"Put it under your pillow. Then you'll have it nearby if you need it."

Lucy nodded. "Okay." But she didn't put the knife under her pillow; she kept herself propped up and ran her fingers over the delicate carving in the base of the knife. The knife made her feel…better, somehow. Like she was capable of protecting herself if she absolutely needed to. It made her feel strong. "Thank you for giving me this, by the way. I don't think I thanked you before."

She heard him shift back to his bed on the floor. "You're welcome."

"And I'm sorry I tried to stab you with it," She murmured, glancing down at her hands. She could barely see the outline of the knife, now—but her eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness. She could see faint shapes in the room. "I shouldn't have done that."

Natsu laughed. "It's okay."

"And—And I'm sorry I took the knife to begin with. I just—I thought you guys had abducted me, and I needed something to protect myself, and—"

He snorted, cutting her off. "Quit apologizing, Lucy."

She fell quiet, surprised by how much she liked the sound of him saying her name.

She heard him roll to face her, then huff out a breath when the pain kicked in from the movement. "It was my mom's."

Lucy frowned. "The knife?"

"Yeah. She gave it to me when I was three." He paused. "Told me it would keep me safe."

Lucy blinked, eyes falling to the blade in her hands. She gripped it tightly. "Three," She murmured, still shocked by how young he'd been indoctrinated into this life. "Did you get along well with your mom?"

Surprisingly, the question didn't make him go tense like he'd expected it to. But it was because there was no journalist in her voice—she wasn't prying for information, wasn't conducting research into a subject. This was Lucy asking him _honestly_ —because she wanted to know. It was the first time discussing his mother hadn't made his muscles ache or made his blood boil.

He wanted to fight it, wanted to keep these things secret. But even Gajeel didn't know about this kind of stuff, and it gnawed at his soul. So, he said it. Gave it to this girl. Gave her a bit of trust he'd never given anyone else.

He hated that. He hated that she had bits and pieces of him—but he still gave them to her willingly. It was like…he couldn't help it. She was warm and she was soft and she was listening as if he mattered when no one else really had.

"Yeah, pretty good," He admitted. "She tried to give me a little bit of normalcy—I think she felt bad, deep down."

"Normalcy?" Lucy repeated. "How so?"

Natsu shrugged. "She'd just…be affectionate sometimes, when no one else was." He let out a breath, like he was embarrassed. "She hugged me, once."

Lucy frowned. Being _hugged_ was a notable thing for him? She couldn't imagine how loveless a life had to be for an occasional hug to be noteworthy, something to remember. But this was the brotherhood, and Igneel wasn't exactly a father to his son—he'd taken on the role of a coach more than anything.

It made her feel sad, to imagine sweet young Natsu getting a hug from his mother and clinging to the memory like it was special.

Natsu picked up on her silence, seemed to realize that what he'd said wasn't normal at all—and he stammered over his words, flustered. "I mean, uh…" He swallowed again. "I don't know."

Lucy's voice was quiet. "Could I come sit with you?"

Natsu swallowed, eyes still on the ceiling. "Uh, sure."

She breathed in through her nose, the sadness in her chest weighing her down; she moved quietly, carefully, and pulled herself from the mattress. She lowered herself to the ground and scooted close to him.

She didn't know why, but this was all she could think of doing. Because she felt horrible for him, felt horrible for the life he'd lived, deprived of love and affection and normalcy—this was all she knew how to do. It was what her dad would do for her, when she was sad—he'd sit with her. He wouldn't say anything, wouldn't talk about anything until she was ready—but he'd just sit with her. His presence was her comfort. And so, that's all she knew to do for Natsu: sit with him and be there.

Natsu pulled himself to a sitting position, nose wrinkling as stabbing pain spread through his ribs, his wrist. Lucy scooted closer, directly beside him. Her elbow touched his.

"You don't have to feel bad for me," He said with a sigh, "I'm fine."

Lucy swallowed. "I know you are." She paused. "I just…I'm sorry you weren't loved."

Natsu shrugged. "It wasn't so bad."

"You don't know what you're missing."

"Tell me, then," He murmured, bringing his knees up and resting his arms on them. He laid his head on his arms, turning his neck so he was looking at the blonde. "Tell me what it's like."

"To be loved?"

He blinked. "Yeah."

"Well, it's…" Lucy inhaled, leaning back and thinking to her childhood. "It's wonderful."

His dark eyes watched her, now able to see her relatively clearly, as his eyes had adjusted to the dark. He watched her carefully, breaking down her body language as she spoke, trying to make sense of her words.

"My mom—she was the best," Lucy began. "She'd paint and color, and she taught me how, and we'd spend so much time together just making crafts. And whenever I made something, she'd tell me how wonderful it was—and she'd hang it on the fridge."

Natsu frowned. "The fridge? Why?"

"That's where you put art that you want to show off—so everyone could see it." Lucy smiled to herself, thinking about her mother. "She was so gentle. Just…a gentle person. She cared about everyone she met, and she loved everything with her whole heart. She was just so, so kind."

Natsu watched Lucy's lips twist into a sad, nostalgic smile.

"She passed away when I was seven," Lucy said, voice going small and quiet. "She got sick a few years earlier. But right up until the end—she was so kind. I miss her everyday."

He blinked at the girl, confused by the look of adoration on her face. He'd never felt that way before in his life, and it was hard for him to comprehend. He'd never had a mother that wanted to spend time with him, and he certainly never made arts and crafts.

He'd loved his mother, when he was young. But as he grew older, he'd realized that she wasn't as loving as he'd first thought. Sure, she was kinder than Igneel and she'd given him that hug one time, after Igneel had been furious with him for losing a fight—but she hadn't been gentle or soft, like Lucy's mom. She'd always been stern, always been on edge—probably because she was worried about getting caught, since she was a traitor. His youth had blurred the truth, but the older Natsu grown, the more he realized that his mother hadn't loved him. Cared, maybe—but there was no love in her eyes.

But the look on Lucy's face, the smile touching her lips…that was love. He'd never really seen it before, not in the brotherhood. Maybe bits and pieces of it, like Gajeel's parents—but it was always tainted by the brotherhood's influence. But Lucy's love was pure and untouched and _honest_ , and he didn't understand.

"It was different with my dad, though," Lucy murmured, her smile fading; she swallowed, fumbling with the edge of her shirt. "We used to argue so much—we'd fight about everything. But even after we fought…he loved me. He just showed me through actions, not his words."

Natsu frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He wasn't around a lot," Lucy explained. "He was a journalist, always off researching for a story. After mom died, he travelled a lot—to get his mind off of it, I think. But he'd always come back with a souvenir from his trips. And he'd always smile when he saw me, and tell me about his journeys and who he met." She paused, smiling. "He inspired me to be a journalist, too. And when I first got into it, he'd edit all my work and tell me how to improve because he wanted me to be successful. He just cared a lot, even though he wasn't as vocal about it, y'know?"

Natsu nodded, understanding more, now.

Lucy fell quiet again, and her lips twisted downward. "He died two years ago. Car accident."

Natsu looked at her, saw the sadness in her eyes and felt it reflect in his own chest. "Lost both your parents," He murmured. "I'm sorry."

Lucy shook her head, brown eyes turning to him. "Don't be," She whispered. "Because I had a life full of love with them. They gave me everything I ever needed."

Natsu turned his head so that he was facing forward, his chin still resting on his arm. "I've never felt that," He admitted, and it was true—because he hadn't. His entire life, he'd been yearning for something more, for affection or love or _something_ , but he hadn't known what. He'd strived for greatness because he thought maybe that's what he was missing—he wasn't the best yet. He strove to impress his father because maybe that's what he needed to do.

But it wasn't greatness he was missing. It wasn't his father's satisfaction. It wasn't overcoming his mother's betrayal. He'd been missing this—what Lucy was describing—his entire life.

Love. He'd never been loved. And sure, he had Gajeel—but Gajeel wasn't wired the same way as him. Gajeel _was_ loved; he had a father that cared with his entire heart and a mother that chose love over the brotherhood. Gajeel didn't quite understand the yearning, the thirst, that Natsu had. And that was okay, except now Natsu _knew_ what he was missing and it made him stomach hurt and his ribs ache, because he'd never gotten what he needed.

Lucy watched the boy's face crumble down, break down into something between fury and absolute devastation, and she couldn't help but throw her arms around him. He went tense and froze, but she didn't care—she hugged him tighter, wrapping her arms around his bare shoulders.

She felt warm against his skin and his heart ached, and he turned his body, about to wrap his arms around her torso—but something interrupted him.

Gunshots. Gunshots in the hallway, close by. Yelling, the voices of men yelling, and more gunshots following.

Lucy gasped, the sound so loud and sudden her heart nearly stopped.

Natsu was up in an instant, his body pressed against the door. All of his muscles were taut, prepared for action; he listened closely, trying to understand what was going on in the hallway without opening the door.

"In the drawer," He whispered, voice strong and firm. "There's a gun."

Lucy nodded, her hands shaking as she quickly dove to the desk; she pulled open the drawer, her eyes instantly falling to the handgun laying before her. She grabbed it quickly, but her hands were so shaky she dropped it instantly back into the drawer; she reached for it again, swallowing, trying to control her movements.

It was heavier than she'd thought it would be.

Quickly, she ran over to Natsu and passed it to him. He took it, his dark eyes looking to her. "Do you have your knife?"

"Oh," She sputtered, dashing to her pillow and grabbing the knife beneath it. She held it in her shaky hands, nodding at him. "Yes."

He wasn't shaky at all—in fact, he seemed incredibly calm. "Okay," He nodded back to her. His big hand reached out and held hers, trying to get them to stop shaking. "Relax. You stay here. I'll be right back." He turned to the door.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Lucy spat. "You're going out there?"

He shot her a look. "Yes?"

Lucy swallowed. "Be careful."

He exhaled through his nose, as though her statement was funny. That cocky, lopsided smirk that he tried so hard to hide split onto his lips, and he snorted. "I will."

Natsu opened the door and disappeared into the hallway, and Lucy stepped back from the door, knife held shakily in her two hands. And she should've stayed there and waited patiently, like a good girl—but she felt anxiety bubble up into her, worried about the boy, and she couldn't help herself. She couldn't stay here, hidden from the action. As much as it terrified her, she needed to _see_ what was going on.

She cracked the door open and peeked out.

Three dead bodies laid on the ground. Natsu stepped past them as he made his way down the hall.

Two men were at the end of the hallway, guns raised at Natsu as he jogged towards them. He seemed to realize when and where they were going to shoot—he took two quick steps, making a sharp turn to the right, missing the bullets they sent flying towards him. He ducked, missing another immediate shot from one of the men. He stepped towards the man on the right, his right fist throwing a deep punch to the man's stomach. The enemy keeled over, groaning; Natsu kicked his left foot out and swept the man on the left to the ground.

Natsu shot the man on the right in the foot; the man screamed and fell forwards, the pain sufficiently taking his focus off of Natsu. Immediately, the pink haired boy dove forwards and threw a sharp right hook to the man on the ground's face. The man struggled against Natsu, tried to shove him off—but Natsu was too fast. Another swift punch to the gut distracted the man for the half second needed to cock his gun. A shot rippled through the air, making Lucy shiver; the man went limp below Natsu.

He turned to face the man on his right; Natsu's hands reached out and grabbed his leg, flipping the man to the ground. The man punched Natsu's already busted hand, making him drop his gun.

He gripped the man, twisted his feet around him—some form of martial arts, Lucy seemed to realize. Jui Jitsu, maybe?—and cinched his legs tight. A crack burst through the air, and the man screamed in agony. Lucy flinched, the bone clearly jutting out of the enemy's now broken leg.

Lucy heard something to her right, from the other side of the hallway; three more men were creeping down towards Natsu, guns raised and aiming. But Natsu was too focused on the man at hand; he punched the man's face repeatedly, his screams slowly gurgling out.

Lucy felt her heart stop as the men on her right aimed their weapons at the unknowing boy at the end of the hallway.

The words spat from her lips before she understood the repercussions. "Natsu, look at out!" She screamed.

Natsu spun quickly on his heel, quickly diving to the ground as soon as the men pulled their triggers; he was up instantly, on his feet and running full speed at the trio.

Lucy turned to look at the man, eyes wide.

Only two stepped forward, headed toward Natsu; one of them turned to face her, stepping at an angle in her direction.

Lucy swallowed, holding her knife tightly. "Oh, fuck."

The man began to sprint towards the doorway, pulling his gun up, aiming at her. Lucy gasped and stumbled backwards, slamming the door shut quickly; she locked the door and ran to the far side of the room, gasping for air.

The two men ran towards Natsu; one reached down and grabbed a knife tied to his ankle. He flicked his wrist forwards, snapping the knife through the air, hurling it at the pink haired boy. Natsu rolled to the left, effectively avoiding the thrown knife. By the time he stood, the two men were upon him; he got a punch to the cheek, to the rib.

Natsu grunted, blocking a shot to his left shoulder. He forced his right fist forward, connecting with one of the men's temples. He leaned back, twisting away from the other enemy's punch. He kicked his foot out, his hands wrapping around one of the men's shoulders; he took him to the ground, quickly flipping and twisting his body so that he'd gotten the man in a chokehold. The other man raised his gun, aiming it at Natsu's head. Natsu increased the pressure on the first man's throat, quickly choking him out; his body went limp in Natsu's arms. With every bit of control he had left in his battered right hand, Natsu pulled the dead body up and ducked down.

Gunshot rang through the hallway; the bullet connected with the dead man's body, into the human shield Natsu had just created.

Natsu threw the dead body off of him, at the other man's feet; the man jumped out of the way, avoiding the touch of the corpse. Natsu lunged forwards to the dead body, patting the dead man's ankles in the hopes that he had a gun tied to him; feeling something hard, he pulled up the dead man's pant ankles. Natsu let out a sound of annoyance, finding only a small blade strapped to the corpse's ankle.

Figuring it was better than nothing, Natsu grabbed the knife and leapt towards the remaining enemy. As he did so, he glanced back, realizing that the third enemy was slamming himself into the door, attempting to get into the room where Lucy was hiding.

Gritting his teeth, Natsu gripped the knife tightly. He tossed it up a little, trying to adjust to the weight of the blade. The enemy raised his gun yet again, this time attempting a headshot; Natsu stepped a half-step to the left, ducking out of its way. As soon as the bullet passed, he lunged forward quickly, the blade sinking into the man's left shoulder.

Behind them, the man was busting through the door rather successfully. His feet were smashing through the door effectively, and within a few seconds, he'd be in the room with Lucy.

Natsu could hear her screaming.

He pulled the blade out and stabbed it forward again, the blade now sinking into the man's other shoulder. The man growled out in pain, punching Natsu in his right eye; Natsu's free left hand came forward, hitting the man back just as quickly.

The man stumbled back, and Natsu took this opportunity quickly, realizing how much danger Lucy was in. He threw the knife forward with precise accuracy, hitting the man directly in the chest; without hesitating, he stepped forward and kicked the man in the stomach. The enemy fell to the ground, still scrambling and attempting to fight back; Natsu lunged onto the man's body and grabbed the knife, pulling it out and stabbing it into the man's heart.

Still not satisfied, Natsu pulled the knife out again and sunk it into the man's forehead. He looked down at the man, at his dead, unmoving face, and felt fire in his stomach.

Natsu spun quickly, turning back to the man going for Lucy.

He'd finally kicked in the door, and was stepping through it into the room where Lucy was hiding.

"Help!" Lucy screamed, eyes wide, knife held in her hands. "Help, please!"

"Shit," Natsu muttered, pulling his body up and pushing it towards the room. He had to get there faster. _Faster_.

The man stepped towards Lucy, grinning at her as her shaky hands held the knife up. He laughed, not bothering to raise his gun at her. He didn't need a gun for this— _this_ he could do with his bare hands.

"Stay back!" Lucy screamed, voice shaking. "Stay the fuck back!"

"What are you gonna do, missy?" The man stepped closer to her, cornering her against the wall.

"Stay away from me," Lucy hissed, holding the knife up. "Stay back!"

The man kept laughing, kept walking towards her. Lucy felt her back slam against the wall, running out of space to go. Her heart was beating fast, her breath coming out in shallow gasps. She didn't know what to do. She couldn't do this—she couldn't fight a man this size. She was going to die.

She threw her hand forward, attempting to stab him—the man slapped the knife out of her hand. It clattered to the ground a few steps away from her.

Giving up completely, Lucy curled up into a ball as the man dove towards her, slamming her eyes shut. "Natsu!" She cried, flinching as the man's hands wrapped around her throat.

And she waited for the pressure, for the pain to come—but it never did.

Natsu was there, his hurt body pushed forward out of sheer will, and his hands were around the man's neck. And just as quickly as he'd arrived, he snapped the man's neck back, and his body fell to the ground, slamming against Lucy's.

Lucy peeked up, out of her small ball of fear and horror, shocked to find the enemy dead against her ankles. Her big brown eyes peeked up, saw Natsu panting above her, his right hand completely shattered, his torso covered in blood that was not his own.

They looked at each other for a long second, and then Natsu was beside her on the ground, shoving the dead body away from her. He hesitated for a long second before he threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

She didn't care that blood was smearing across her clothes. She didn't care.

She hugged him back, her chin tucking into his shoulder, her chest heaving as she breathed heavily. And she could feel his heartbeat against her chest, could feel how absolutely _calm_ it was—but it didn't matter. Maybe he could kill without hesitating. Maybe he was a monster. But he'd saved her, yet again.

She didn't know how long they sat there, on the ground, hugging. It felt like hours and seconds, all at once. But the bubble of relief and fear around them was burst when a familiar voice burst into the room.

"Natsu, there's a—" The voice was in the hallway. Silence followed as footsteps quickly ran to Natsu's room. Gajeel skidded past the door, his big hands catching the door frame, pulling him into the room. "Hey, guys, are you—"

He fell quiet again, seeing the two on the floor, hugging beside a dead body.

Gajeel frowned. "Are you guys okay?"

Natsu turned to him, his warm body pulling away from Lucy. "Shadows. Just a group of them here—alarms didn't go off. They found us."

"I know," Gajeel hissed back. "Mord's are fighting a group in the left wing. I came to get you. Sorry I'm late."

"It's okay." Natsu stood. "They must've known we would come here. They must've had control of the alarms before we even arrived."

Gajeel nodded. "They let us think we were in hiding," He grumbled. "Let us stay for a few days so we though we were in the clear."

"But why?" Lucy asked, not understanding. "Why would they let you stay in the base for a few days before attacking?"

Natsu's voice was dark. "Because they're fucking with us. This wasn't a strategic plan—they wanted us to feel secure."

"Assholes," Gajeel spat.

"So…they waited to attack to _insult_ you?"

Natsu looked at her. She was still curled up on the ground, still shaking. "Yes." He paused. "This means they knew our location the entire time—they could've attacked immediately. They would've had a better chance if they had. But they waited…it's a message."

"A message?"

"For Igneel," Natsu muttered. "For me."

Gajeel crossed his arms. "We better get up there."

Natsu nodded. "I know. He'll want to make a move fast. We can't let this go without a response." He turned, squatting back down so he was on the same level as Lucy. "You're coming with me."

Gajeel seemed surprised. "You think that's the best idea? Igneel will—"

Natsu looked at his best friend over his shoulder. " _She's not leaving my side_."

He couldn't leave her there, sniffling and shaking on the floor of his bedroom beside a dead body. He couldn't. She was scared and she was afraid and he wasn't going to leave her. If he was going to the Drache, she was going to the Drache. That was the end of it.

Just like that damn dog, so many years ago. He wasn't leaving the innocent to die.

Gajeel's eyebrows shot up. "Jeez. Fine." He walked to the door. "Let's go, then. He'll kill us if we're late."

Lucy hauled herself up to a standing position, her knees still a bit shaky. She reached over and grabbed the knife on the ground, holding it tight in her hands.

Natsu turned to her, the darkness growing in his eyes. "When we get up there," He murmured. "Don't speak."

Lucy followed him as he left the bedroom. "Why?"

"They'll tear you apart."

Lucy swallowed, fear flushing through her body. They turned left, and she watched as the boys step over the dead bodies without concern. She closed her eyes as she passed the bodies, as she stepped through the puddles of blood, holding the knife tightly.

She gritted her teeth.

The war was happening, and she was in the centre of it. And now, she was headed to the heart of the brotherhood, the core of its evil.

She was going to meet the Drache.


	10. This Will Be The Death Of You

Her heart beat heavily against her ribs; she held her breath, veins buzzing with anxiety and fear. So far, she'd only encountered Igneel once—and she'd honestly prefer never to meet him again. He'd been harsh and cold and furious, and he terrified her. But now, she was on her way to _his_ headquarters to meet with him and the rest of the leaders of the brotherhood.

Natsu and Gajeel were both tense but unafraid. This was normal for them, meeting with the Drache—because even though they were the lowest rank in the gang, they were one of the most important. The brotherhood's muscle. The brotherhood's most vicious killers. The ones the brotherhood relied on most.

She felt numb, trailing behind the two boys. Perhaps it was the fear under her skin, diluting her ability to _feel_ —but Lucy knew that wasn't the truth. She felt numb because she'd just witnessed the death of multiple people and she only felt _relief_. When she'd watched Natsu kill those enemies—she'd felt better. And when the man coming for her, the man who'd put his hands around her, had his neck snapped and fell to her feet—she wished she'd been the one to do it.

She knew she _should_ be upset. She should be horrified and repulsed and disgusted, but she wasn't. Relief and peace flushed through her blood, through her bones.

Lucy pressed her lips together as she followed the boys, trying to hide the small smile of relief she wore.

Gajeel led them into an elevator and down a few floors; they wound through corridors until they finally hit what appeared to be a foyer leading to the Drache's suite.

The room was empty—no members of the Drache—aside from a guard standing beside the door to the suite. He wore a bulletproof vest and had a large gun slung over his chest. He looked at Natsu and nodded, quickly stepping through the doors behind him—probably to notify the Drache as to who had arrived.

The boys stopped in the room abruptly; Lucy slammed into Natsu's back, taken by surprise as to their lack of movement.

His big hand reached out, catching her hip; his other hand fell on her shoulder, readjusting her quickly so that she wouldn't fall. He stabilized her, dark eyes flickering to meet hers. For the first time since she'd met him, Lucy could sense that he was worried about something.

He didn't speak, but his head tilted to the side as if he were questioning whether she was okay; Lucy gave him a nod in return.

Lucy was surprised by how plain the foyer was; there was a small sitting area beside a rather plain bookcase and a few framed images on the walls, and that was it. But she supposed this was to be expected—this was their secondary base, the place they opted to hide after being driven out of the _bridge_.

Her eyes fell to the picture frames on the wall, frowning when she realized it wasn't pictures inside of them. Rather than images, inside the frames were various plaques. Lucy narrowed her eyes, attempting to read the far one, the frame closest to the Drache's door.

 _The Children's Hospital of Fiore would like to send their sincerest gratitude to…Igneel Dragneel and his close family & friends for their extremely generous donation. This generation has enabled the hospital to expand our Neurology department. The staff and children at the hospital send their love._

Lucy couldn't help but make a face, her eyes darting down to the ground. She locked the information away, fully intending to ask Natsu about it once they were in safe quarters. After all, he'd warned her not to speak—it wasn't safe here.

The guard stepped through the door and gave the boys a nod, stepping aside and allowing the three into the Drache's room. Gajeel entered first, then Natsu, with Lucy following behind timidly. The guard's hand lingered over his weapon; Lucy diverted her eyes quickly, picking up her pace so she was walking slightly closer to Natsu.

She held her breath as she walked, not knowing what to expect behind the door. Dead bodies? Hostages?

To her surprise, it was a boardroom.

The room was large and spacious; on the far side of it was a large, oval table seating the leaders of the brotherhood. These walls in this room were covered in more thankful plaques showcasing the brotherhood's donations to local charities.

The Drache turned to look at the trio as they walked in, eyes immediately falling dark once they saw Lucy. She shuffled awkwardly, head turning down, eyes flashing to the floor uncomfortably.

Natsu's right hand flicked out and touched her hip, bringing her to a halt. He stopped her so she was just behind him, his body slightly blocking hers from the Drache. He was subtle with the movement; he twisted his body so it looked they'd simply brushed against one another as they walked. Lucy glanced up, eyes flickering over to him; he continued to look straight forward at Igneel, but she could see his jaw tense.

She remembered what he'd said. _Don't say a word_.

Igneel's deep voice rang through the room; it made Lucy jump. "I see you've brought your guest." He stood from his seat at the head of the table and began to slowly walk towards the trio. The words he was saying weren't negative—but the tone he used made it very clear he wasn't impressed. "I wasn't aware she would be joining us."

Natsu's eyes stayed focused on Igneel. He ignored what his leader said. "The shadows—they've attacked us from multiple points."

Igneel swallowed, darkness rising to the surface. "You think we're gonna talk about this?" He spat. "With an outsider in our midst?"

Lucy blinked, forcing herself to keep her eyes on the wood floors. She wanted to look up, wanted to watch Igneel, wanted to see the fury play out on his face—but she couldn't. If she slipped up, Natsu would pay for her mistake.

"They're coming," Natsu spat back, frustration clear in his tone. "We're wasting time."

Igneel stepped closer, now, so he was only a foot away from Natsu. "Have you had enough fucking around?" He asked. His voice was gentle, quiet and low—but there was a snap of venom in each word he spoke. "You're ready to finally get to business?"

Natsu's voice was hard. "Yes." He wanted to argue, wanted to fight back—but knew better.

The older man's head tipped slightly to the side, a strange mangled smile brushing onto his lips. "Yet you've brought her here."

"What did you want me to do?" Natsu snapped. "Leave her there with the bodies?"

"She shouldn't be here to begin with," A man from the table said, voice stiff. "She doesn't belong here."

The table murmured in agreement; Gajeel rolled his eyes.

Igneel waved his hand over his left shoulder, giving the Drache instruction to leave it to him; the table fell silent immediately.

"She's a captive," Igneel asked, darkness rolling off of his tongue. His eyes flashed to his son's, tried to read them, tried to understand—but Natsu was good at putting on a mask, good at hiding everything. There was nothing to find in the boy's expression. "Why was she in your room to begin with?"

Natsu didn't hesitate. "Interrogation."

"In your _room_?" A woman at the table hissed.

Igneel gave a sharp look over his shoulder, fury echoing from his glance. "Silence," He growled at the woman. The words were fierce and sharp, and the entire table's heads dropped, eyes falling to their laps. He wouldn't allow that kind of insubordination. Igneel turned back to the boy, and raised an eyebrow—effectively asking the same question the woman had just hissed out.

Natsu's jaw locked. "Manipulation," He said, voice void of all emotion. "She trusts me when we're alone."

Lucy felt her eyes go hard as she looked at the flooring, felt a burn of betrayal bubble up her throat. So that's what it had been—manipulation? He'd taken her there, taken her alone just to get answers from her that she wouldn't have given to him in an interrogation room? She felt anger, felt fury, felt—

Lucy paused, the hurt in her chest fading away instantly.

 _Wait_. That didn't make sense. The entire time they'd been there…they'd mostly discussed him. Him, and his mother, and how he wasn't loved. She'd talked about her parents, sure, but he wouldn't have interrogated her for _that_.

In fact, there was no reason for him to interrogate her _at all_. She had no information relevant or worthy to him.

Lucy blinked at the floor. Was he… _lying_ to Igneel? Lying to cover up her staying with him, rather than a prison cell eight floors down? Lying to cover up them spending time together, talking?

Igneel looked at Natsu, eyes unchanging. "Ah."

Natsu's eyes didn't stray away, didn't blink or look down. There was clearly a struggle between them, a struggle for dominance; neither glanced away for a long few moments.

But then, suddenly, Igneel's eyes flashed to Lucy, and he stepped towards her. His head cocked to the side as he looked her over, eyes running down her body, noting her blood-stained clothing. When he spoke, his voice was low again, darkness creeping through it.

"And how are you, my dear?" He asked, but there was no hint of concern in his voice. "Holding up alright?"

Lucy kept her eyes on the ground, not saying a word.

"My, my," Igneel murmured, glancing back at Natsu. "You've got her well trained."

Natsu's expression remained flat, cold. He didn't respond.

Igneel turned back to the girl. There was something angry in his eyes—it had been a long time since someone hadn't met his gaze, hadn't obeyed him. But the fury was more than that—he was furious she was here, furious Salamander would dare to _save_ this girl and _keep_ this girl and _talk_ to this girl. And he knew she was soft, and he knew she was gentle, and he knew his son would bend to her will because _he was weak_ , and he would always be weak, and no matter how many years had been devoted to break him and make him strong. He just wouldn't be.

Igneel's hand reached out, about to touch the girl's chin, about to lift her head and force her to look him in the eye. But the second his hand moved forward towards the girl, Salamander's arm twitched. It moved as though he were going to stop Igneel, as if he were going to hit his hand away from the girl's face, like it was an impulse. But it didn't reach out—he stopped his arm the second it began to move. He flexed his hand, then tightened it into a fist.

Igneel caught the movement, his own hand freezing. His lips twisted into an awful smirk, eyes flickering over to Salamander. "Is something going on here?"

Salamander glared forward, not bothering to meet Igneel's eyes, his body unmoving. "Nothing's going on."

Igneel's gaze flashed back to the girl. Her head was still dropped, her eyes still on the floor—but her shoulders were shaking in fear. And anyone else would've dropped the subject. Anyone else would've believed Salamander, would've seen the blankness in his eyes and believed that he didn't care for the girl.

But there was something there.

Because if there wasn't something—if there was nothing between the girl and Salamander—she would've looked up. It was human nature, after all—humans couldn't bear to look away from something they were afraid of. Based off of how much her shoulders shook, based off of the wobbliness in her knees, Igneel knew she was afraid.

Yet, still, her eyes stuck to the ground. They didn't look up, despite the urge. He could see it in her hands, in the tension in her elbow. She wanted to look up, wanted to see him, wanted to have eyes on the threat at all times—but she didn't.

Salamander must've advised her not to—and she was listening. And he wouldn't advise that if he didn't care.

He cared because he was weak. He was always weak. Saved that fucking dog because he was weak and couldn't kill his bitch of a mom because he was weak and couldn't let this fucking girl die because he was still weak. He'd always cared too much for his own fucking good.

Maybe he cared a lot. Maybe he cared a little. It didn't matter. He'd always been like this. Gave the tiniest shit about something and he'd fucking die for it. Igneel hated that. He always had.

Fury ripped through Igneel's stomach, tore up his throat in a fiery blaze. His dark eyes slid to Salamander, noted the emptiness in his eyes, then back to the girl. "You care for her," Igneel spat, disgust in his tone.

Salamander's voice was icy. "I don't."

Lucy felt her heart skip a beat, felt her stomach get heavy. Maybe he was lying—but it still bit at her. She wanted to look up, wanted to see Natsu's expression, wanted to see if there was honesty in his eyes—but he'd told her not to, told her to keep her head down and stay silent. So, she did. Because she had faith.

Igneel swallowed, trying to force the rage back down to his chest. He looked at the girl, watched her head stay bowed in obedience, and then back to the boy. He searched Salamander's expression, waiting for _something_ to give it away—but he was good at this. His face stayed blank, stayed empty.

Igneel smirked, but it was filled with anger and frustration and annoyance.

And he hated this, hated how Salamander could care about something so weak and useless. Mostly, he hated being lied to. Don't say you don't care if you do—and don't care about stupid shit.

Igneel reached out, hand outstretched, reaching for the girl's throat. He put all of his strength behind it because _fuck this girl_ —he'd choke her out if he fucking had to. She was a distraction, keeping Salamander busy when he had responsibilities, duties to attend to. He had to protect the brotherhood, had to kill anything that got in his way and she was distracting him, taking him away from what mattered. So he threw his muscle behind it, as much as he could muster in a split second, and pulled his hand into a deadly claw—because if he got a hold of her, that's what she was: dead.

Salamander's torso didn't move. His head didn't move. His eyes didn't falter, didn't blink. But his right hand had snapped out, faster than the eye could see, and caught Igneel's wrist before his hands wrapped around the girl's throat.

Lucy flinched at the action, slamming her eyes shut. She was holding her breath, fear flushing through her body—but also relief. Because even though he'd said he didn't care, even though he'd said she was nothing—he'd been lying. This was proof of that. He cared.

She was glad.

Salamander's voice was low, ravenous and filled with scathing hatred. " _Don't_."

Igneel's lips split into a gruesome smile—because that simple little action had told him everything he needed to know. Because Salamander wouldn't have spared this girl now, from the brotherhood's leader, if he didn't care.

Because he was so fucking weak—it was easy to find the truth.

A perfect example of why Igneel had tried to make the boy strong—because the enemy would use it all against you. They'd use everything you loved to hurt you, to beat you. If he cared about this girl, then she was dangerous—because the shadows would learn this and they would take her from him, and they would hurt him more than he could ever imagine. Because caring would become a weapon against him.

But he'd never listened when Igneel had tried to tell him this. That's why the dog was the first lesson, to break the kindness in those children's hearts. Because you can't care for things, because caring is like offering the knife to your enemy. Because when those kids don't kill the dog, it's used against them.

Salamander was the only child in training that wouldn't kill the dog. The others—they listened. All of them. But this little boy—he cried and refused, because he couldn't. And when Igneel sent some men to kill it—because that was part of the lesson—Salamander had slaughtered them. Three men dead over a dog.

Igneel killed the dog himself and thew the carcass at the boy's feet. Because when you loved something—it would be used against you.

Igneel knew that better than anyone.

Igneel leaned back, furious satisfaction in his eyes. "I thought so."

Salamander's arm released the older man's wrist, his hand reaching back and touching the girl's shoulder; he shuffled her behind him, behind his protection. He kept his hand on her arm, touching her skin.

"I should slaughter you both," Igneel hissed, then paused. "Or maybe just her."

Lucy grimaced at the words.

"Try it," Salamander spat. Everything about the boy was pure darkness.

Instinctively, Gajeel shuffled to his right, closing the gap between his own body and Salamander's, prepared to defend his comrade at any second. The motion made Igneel's stomach burn with even more anger, but he ignored it. This wasn't about anyone other than Salamander.

"You're a fool." Igneel shook his head. "This will be the death of you."

The word was a snarl out of the pink haired boy's lips. "Maybe."

Igneel's nose wrinkled, fury and madness and disgust seeping from every pore. He wanted to hit him, wanted to bit the living shit out of the kid, wanted to slit his throat. But he couldn't, and he didn't. Instead, he turned on his heel, eyes turning back to the Drache.

"We attack tomorrow," He said, voice flat again. "The shadows can't get away with this."

"Fine," Salamander spat. "Where?"

Igneel paused, turning his head ever so slightly, only able to see the girl in his peripheral vision. "Right in the heart." He paused for a beat. "And she'll be with you."

Lucy blinked, head rising as Igneel's words flashed through her brain. Her heart was hammering and she felt dizzy and lightheaded, and she repeated the phrase in her mind over and over, trying to make sense of it.

" _What?_ " Natsu hissed. "No."

Igneel didn't move, didn't reply.

Natsu's voice was a low growl. "She stays here. _She stays safe_."

Igneel turned, now, and he shouted the words with more fury than Lucy had ever heard in her life. His voice roared through the space, ripped at everyone's ears. He was madness and frenzy and _fire_ abruptly. " _If she stays here, I'll kill her myself_!" He stepped back towards the trio, entire body tense as though he was holding himself back from killing them all. And just as suddenly as he'd been yelling, his voice dropped to that reserved, tense quietness that he'd always had. "You want to fuck around? You want to save her? Then save her. But she will be fucking _with_ you on the front lines, in the heart of the war. Save her from that."

"You can't ask me to do that. I won't do it."

Igneel walked up to Natsu, got up in his face. Natsu's body went stiff.

"I'm not fucking _asking_." His words dripped with hatred, with insanity. "I'll kill you, too. Don't you ever forget that."

Natsu's eyes were sharp, glaring at the face that lingered so close to his. They looked at each other for a long moment, a silent war for dominance between them.

Lucy wanted to shout, wanted to demand answers, wanted to take her fist and beat the hell out of Igneel. Because Natsu deserved better, and she didn't want to be in a war, and she wasn't ready to die.

The silent war played out, but it wasn't in her favor.

"Three days," Natsu spat.

Igneel's eyes narrowed. "Two."

"Fine."

"I'll gather the rest."

Natsu glared at Igneel for a second longer, letting out a little growl of anger and frustration before he turned to Lucy. He nudged her forwards, pushed her lightly towards the door; she peered up at him and felt her veins go cold.

There was fear in his eyes—something she'd never seen before.

Igneel spoke to her as Natsu pushed her from the room.

"Good luck, my dear," He called out, voice fading as they left the room at a quick pace. "You'll need it."


	11. A Girl And A Gun

All she could feel was panic.

As she heard Igneel wish her luck, as Natsu wheeled her away from the Drache as fast as possible, as she felt his hands grip her shoulders with increasing agitation— _panic_. Her heart was hammering and her lungs felt like they couldn't get enough air in them and everything was kind of blurry, kind of spinning. He shoved her away from the Drache, from their angry faces; he pushed her through the foyer, past the guard, and into the empty hallway.

She turned to look at him, to look at Gajeel, the second they were free from the Drache's confines. Mostly, she wanted to see something that would relieve the fear in her chest. She wanted the sudden heaviness on her shoulders to be taken from her. She wanted to look to the boys, see confidence and laughter on their faces, and feel safe again.

But she didn't.

Gajeel avoided her eyes. He looked down at the floor, a strange unhappiness resting in his cheeks, in the way his mouth fell. He let out a sigh, and it wasn't a comforting sound. He knew what had just happened, understood the gravity of what Igneel had said. He was worried.

Natsu, however, was simply angry. Sure, maybe there was worry somewhere in his brain, somewhere far behind the anger—but Lucy couldn't see it. His face was messed up in a horrible, furious frown. His hands were shaking with rage. He looked at her, and all she could see was darkness.

He looked like he could kill someone. More importantly, he looked like he _wanted_ to kill someone.

"Two days?" Lucy asked, but there was no strength in her words. Her voice was empty and breathy. "Two days for what?"

Natsu didn't respond; his jaw locked tight and his hands balled up into fists and he looked like he might kill something, maybe even her. He closed his eyes for a second, like he was trying to restrain himself, but it didn't work; he began to pace, his breath coming out in sharp exhales from his nose.

Lucy swallowed, a lump forming in her throat. His anger _meant_ something.

Igneel had guaranteed her death to punish Natsu.

Gajeel's eyes flickered to the side, watching Natsu pace. He looked down to Lucy, responding when he realized Natsu wouldn't. "Two days until we strike." He paused, noticing the fear in her brown eyes. "Two days to teach you as much combat as possible."

Lucy blinked, the fear running through her body overwhelming. She felt tired—this was too much.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't learn to fight—she'd never been good at that kind of stuff. She'd failed gym class in high school and she couldn't run for more than fifteen seconds without being out of breath. She couldn't handle violence, couldn't handle fighting, couldn't handle this.

She certainly couldn't handle being there, on the front lines, in a war between the two most dangerous gangs in Fiore.

She wanted to cry, wanted to scream and fight and be angry—but there wasn't time. She didn't have time or energy to waste. Because she had two fucking days. There wasn't time to complain—she was far too practical for that.

Her eyes flickered down to the ground. She allowed herself one split second to think about her home, safe and warm, before she looked back up and nodded, accepting her fate.

Her brown eyes were wet and she was fighting back tears, but she still accepted her fate. She _would_ fight in this war. She didn't have a choice. "Okay," She whispered. "What first?"

Natsu was still pacing, that horrifying expression on his face. But then he heard Lucy, heard her accept what was happening, heard her push the fear away and force bravery into her voice—and it shook the anger out of him. He paused, looking to the girl.

She was shaking. Terrified. But there, in her big brown eyes, beyond the fear and the horror and the tears, there was something strong. Something forcing her forwards, because she knew she didn't have a choice. He watched as her little hands balled up into determined fists.

He was still angry, still furious—but they didn't have time. They didn't have time for him to pace, to think about how much he wanted to beat the shit out of Igneel, to think about how unfair all of it was.

He wanted to think about if he'd really helped this girl at all. He wanted to know if saving her had beneficial. Because if he hadn't spared her, the brotherhood would've tortured and killed her. And if he'd forced her to be left behind, the shadows would've hunted her down and killed her themselves. But this—what he'd done—wasn't much better. Keep her hostage, force her into a world she didn't belong in, essentially drag her along to witness killing after killing, murder after murder…only for her to end up in the war, used as a manipulation tactic, used to punish him. And what he'd done hadn't been great for him, either—because he'd met her and he'd cared, because he was weak like Igneel had always said he was, and now he was even weaker because he'd told her things, and now she was going to die in the war that he'd fucking started.

But he didn't have the time to break these thoughts down, to make sense of them. He had two days to take this innocent girl and teach her how to kill. He had two days to twist this pure spirit into a monster, just like he was.

Because if he didn't, she'd be dead on the spot. She wouldn't have a fucking chance.

Natsu let out a breath, forcing his fury to the back of his mind, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand. "We need to go to the arsenal."

Gajeel nodded.

"The arsenal?" Lucy asked, quickly following along as the boys made their way down the hall. She was getting better at this, better at making sense of things. She was following them more quickly, understanding the time crunch. "To get weapons?"

"Yeah." Natsu looked down at her, looking at the mixture of horror and fierceness in her eyes. "We have to teach you to shoot a gun."

* * *

Lucy's eyes ran over the walls of the room, stomach effectively curdled into a tiny, hard ball. She'd never been particularly good with violence, but it seemed particularly daunting knowing that _she_ would have to wield one of these weapons and _she_ would have to kill people. She was starting to sweat, now. She felt ill.

Natsu spoke, but the words flickered in and out for her. She could see his lips moving, see him watching her. Occasionally, his voice would become audible, and then fade back out. She was too distracted, too worried about what she would have to do—what she would need to be _willing_ to do, in order to survive. She shook her head and forced herself to listen to him. What he said might save her life.

"Count your bullets. Always."

Lucy looked to him, swallowing. Her mouth was dry. "Why?"

"So you don't run out. If you don't count, you don't know how many you have left." He paused before telling her more information. "Never fire until you're empty."

She blinked. "Why not?"

"That's stupid."

"Oh." She sucked in a shaky breath. She didn't understand, but she made a mental note of the information anyway. "Okay."

Gajeel spoke, now, his deep voice echoing from the metal walls of the armory. It was an extremely secure room—almost as secure as the Drache's suite. They'd had to pass several guards just to get access to the weapons—and even then, the guards put up quite the fuss that Lucy was there. Natsu had reminded them who he was, and the guards had backed down.

"Shoot everyone more than once."

Lucy turned, looking to the taller boy. She didn't need to question it—he explained immediately, knowing she wouldn't understand.

He smirked at her confusion. "You're new at this. Take everything on the safe side. Shoot everyone more than once. That way, if your first shot wasn't lethal enough…"

Lucy nodded. "I'll get them eventually."

"Right. There you go."

Natsu seemed hesitant; he chewed on the inside of his cheek for a long moment before looking to Lucy and murmuring, "Ready to shoot?"

Her stomach ached and she could've gagged, because holy shit, she'd never fired a gun before in her life and had honestly only ever thought of them as killing machines. But now, they were _necessary_ killing machines. She'd never thought she'd be put in a situation where she needed a gun. How far she had come.

So she nodded at him despite the fear in her bones, because this was what was necessary. Survival of the fittest—and so, she would be fit. She would survive. She would learn to shoot a gun and she would learn how to fight. The idea of killing a person still made her want to vomit, but she tried not to focus on that as much.

Natsu and Gajeel started talking to each other, their eyes combing the racks of weapons; they grabbed a couple knives and a couple different guns—some big, some small, Lucy didn't know the difference—and were talking about aluminum and steel and weights, whatever that meant. Lucy trailed along, everything becoming a blur, their voices fading out as she stared at the weapons hanging before her.

The room was big. There had to be thousands of guns here. Enough to supply the entire brotherhood, enough to stock them for a war.

A war she was now a part of.

They spoke to her and asked her to hold a few of the guns, to see if she struggled under their weight; some were larger and longer and she could barely hoist them up in her arms. The boys took note of this and continued along the racks, adjusting their picks of weaponry for her. She obliged, albeit not fully aware of what was going on. They'd ask her if one gun was more comfortable over another gun in her hands, and she would try her best to answer—but the truth was, none of them were comfortable. She would never _be_ comfortable, holding a gun.

She was a journalist.

After a fair amount of time of them fretting over the guns and her ability to hold the bigger ones, they'd grabbed an assorted collection of weapons for her to try out. They lead her out of the armory, headed towards the shooting range; Lucy followed along shakily, not knowing if she was really mentally prepared enough for what was coming next.

She didn't know if she had the strength to shoot a gun. To hold a weapon so deadly and fire it. To prepare herself to fire it at a living, breathing human.

She wanted to puke.

They took her to the range and they spoke to her, spewing more information at her about gun safety and how to hold each gun and how to put the safety back on if not in use and so much more. And she was listening, really she was, but the information didn't mean much to her. She was training to kill. She felt like a fucking monster, and she hadn't even fired one yet.

She watched as Natsu talked, watched as his eyebrows pulled together and his forehead wrinkled with concern. She watched as he held each gun with care, as he held the metal weapons with extreme caution. Most of all, she was impressed how easy it seemed for him; he'd been doing it for so long the guns appeared almost like an extension of his body. Every movement was fluid, natural, normal.

And once the boys finished their long, information-packed spiel, they urged her up to the door of the range. And they showed her how to position her body, how to hold her arms and her head and her neck, and she just listened and did what they said because she was fucking clueless. Everything was a bit of a daze, blurry and fuzzy and confusing, but she did her best and she followed instructions, and—

Natsu handed her a gun, and everything went crystal clear. Lines were sharp. Colors were bolder. Black was blacker.

The metal was cold in her hands, on her fingertips. And they were still speaking to her, telling her to lift the gun and how to aim at the enemy—a dummy board at the end of the range—but she wasn't listening. The metal was so cold in her hands.

And when she pulled the trigger, it was like her ears burst and her stomach heaved and everything was different. She'd fired a gun. The bullet flew through the air and pelted the dummy in the gut. Her hands were shaking.

Natsu's dark eyes flickered to the girl, watched her carefully. It took her a long while to pull out of her shooting stance. When she did, her movements were slow; she slowly pulled the gun down, brown eyes staring at it, hands shaking. Her breath was audible and shallow; her chest rose and fell quickly.

And god, he fucking hated it. He hated knowing that he'd made her do this—a nice, normal girl being pulled into _his_ war. She was a journalist and now she was here in his driving range, shooting a gun because she fucking needed to in order to survive. He hated seeing her hands shake and he hated seeing her body jump at the sound of the shot and he hated hearing how faint her breath was, because it was all his fault. Her needing to wield a weapon…his fault. Her being in danger…his fault. He was a monster and he was a killer and he'd brought her into this. He hated it.

Mostly, he hated himself for enjoying it so much—because watching this girl shoot a gun was probably the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He hated himself.

But then she turned to him and there was a fucking _spark_ of something in her eyes—something he'd felt his entire life, something addictive and dark and crisp—and her lips spread into a wide, pleased grin. Her hands were shaking but she was smiling and laughing at her grip tightened on the pistol, pleasure washing across her face.

"Again," She urged. "I want to go again."

He felt his expression melt and then stiffen. He grit his teeth. This was for her own safety.

She went again, over and over. They tried her with different guns, to see which she preferred; honestly, she enjoyed them all. Each one was a different rush, a different flavor of adrenaline. She would shoot and she would smile the entire time, tearing the dummy up bullet by bullet, cheeks flushing with giddiness. As much as she wanted to hate the weapons, the violence...she couldn't.

She felt strong. Capable. More than she ever had before.

They narrowed down which guns she preferred—pistols, mostly, because she had the easiest time wrapping her small hands around them—and set them aside, intending to train her with them further in combat scenarios. But it was getting late and despite her fierce adrenaline rushes, she was beginning to yawn, and so Natsu suggested they call it a night. Gajeel had agreed, and they'd packed up the weapons she'd chosen, leaving the others to the range attendants to return to the armory.

Natsu, Lucy, and Gajeel headed back towards the dormitory side of the iceberg. Natsu went to the dorm manager and requested a new room, considering he'd killed a man in his previous one. They were provided a new room—and this time, Gajeel requested his be directly next door, in case anything were to happen—and made their way there quickly, since Lucy was so drowsy.

They said their goodnights and Gajeel ducked into his room next door, and Lucy and Natsu retreated to their space. Natsu took the floor again, despite his injuries—Lucy would've protested, but she was so exhausted she didn't fight it. Instead, she sunk into the bed, falling asleep the second her head hit the pillow.

She had vague memories of what occurred after she crawled into bed, but drowsily seemed aware of Natsu smirking at her and voluntarily flicking off the light, heading to his blanket on the floor with a strange spark of happiness in his eyes.

* * *

 **A/N : A short chapter, I know, I'm sorry. And sorry for the wait for this chapter! I've been working like crazy and didn't have much free time. I do want to warn you guys, though…my chapters may become more infrequent. I'm heading back to university in a few days! I live with my boyfriend while in school, and he has no idea I write fanfiction. It's a secret hobby of mine, and I prefer to keep it that way lol. This means, however, my opportunity for writing becomes a lot less frequent when I am in school. I will do my best to give you as much content as possible before I head out, and I will honestly try my hardest to write when I am there—but my uploads WILL be slow and inconsistent. I hope you understand. And I know, how dumb of me to keep my writing a secret from my man, but I'm very insecure about my writing and the quality of it and the content and blah blah blah. I know. I'm sorry D: That being said…this story is super fun for me to write and I think about it all day long, so I WILL be continuing despite it being in secret lol. **

**Please forgive me for this hella long authors note! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing! I can't believe this story has hit 150 reviews that is INSANE!**


	12. Bang

The air felt stiff. Lucy's movements were delayed, slowed. Her entire body felt heavy. Her throat ached, that sort of choking that happened when you fought sobs—the feeling was familiar for her. Even so, she stuffed it back, keeping her eyes on the ground and balling her hands into fists, not allowing the tears to form.

She was afraid. They'd been preparing her for this, of course, but she wasn't ready. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, really. It was just another small step in her training. This shouldn't phase her. But she'd gone white as a sheet, and she was sweating and shivering all at once. Nausea rolled through her body like a wave.

Her brown eyes flickered up, looking at the two boys before her. They didn't look happy about this either, but prepared themselves either way. It was a mandatory step in the training they were giving her, a necessary evil.

She spoke, trying to sound confident and casual with her request, but it came out quiet and shaky and small. "Couldn't we just go back to the shooting range?"

Gajeel let out a snort, a smirk flashing onto his lips. Natsu's head tilted, his eyes dropping to the ground for a split second; his expression remained unchanged, dark and unforgiving. This was serious to him, and he'd seen right through her weak attempt at escaping what was coming.

Natsu looked at her, then nodded towards the bench to her left. "Let's go."

They were in the gym again. This was where most of their hand-to-hand combat had taken place; the boys had taught her where to hit an enemy, how to twist her fingers to create a painful attack, how to kick out her legs to break a person's ankle. The gym was empty, now; lights were dimmed, except for the few above the boxing ring the trio stood in.

Lucy swallowed. Her brown eyes trailed over to the bench at the far edge of the ring. She knew what was laying on the bench, knew what Natsu was telling her to do. Still, she held her breath as her eyes fell onto the gun sitting plainly amongst the group's other training supplies.

She walked to the bench and picked up the pistol. The cold metal made a shiver run down her spine; she adjusted her grip on the weapon, eyes running over the sharp lines of it.

So far, she'd only used a gun at the shooting range. And, as the hours had passed, the more bullets she'd sent flying into various dummies, she'd become increasingly comfortable with the concept. She'd enjoyed it, really. Her cheeks hurt from smiling.

But this was different, now. Because, despite her impressive skills at the shooting range—Gajeel had said she was a natural with a gun, which she found quite flattering—she'd never actually pointed a gun at a person before.

It scared her. Shooting a dummy had frightened her, but she'd gotten over it easily—but to point a weapon at a living, breathing person…that was completely different. The idea made her heart race, made the bile rise in her throat. To aim a gun at someone, to _kill_ someone…she didn't think she could.

The anxiety pulsing through her as she turned back to face the boys, pistol in hand, only proved her theory. She wasn't ready. She'd never be ready. This wasn't what she was meant to do—she was just a journalist.

"I can't," Lucy sputtered, heart hammering in her chest. "I can't do it."

Gajeel sighed. "It's not loaded." He seemed genuinely confused by the fear on the girl's face. "You can't hurt us."

Lucy looked down at the gun in her hands. Frustration flooded through her—she had such little time to prepare for this war, and she was wasting time being _afraid_. She was holding a weapon that made her strong, made her capable—and here she was, still holding back tears like a little girl. She wanted to be better, be stronger. She wanted to be like Gajeel's mother, someone that could hold their own and protect themselves.

But she wasn't. She was a journalist.

Tears formed in her eyes, and she dropped her head slightly, wisps of blonde hair falling over her face.

Natsu watched Lucy. He noted the way her shoulders sagged, the way her wrist struggled to hold the pistol, the way she let out little sniffles as she started to cry.

He had struggled with this part, too. He'd been young. He'd been good at the combat, he'd been good at shooting at dummies, but this—this, he struggled with. Picking up the gun, looking the enemy in the eyes, and pulling the trigger. Knowing the bullet would land, knowing they'd be ripped apart, knowing they'd bleed. With just a flick of a finger. That easy. It had always bothered him. He didn't want to do it.

He remembered that first time, that first lesson with a gun. He'd been alone, no other kids being trained, not like this. This was just for him, something only the son of the leader needed to experience. Something to make him strong.

Men, captured from opposing gangs, blindfolded with their hands tied behind their backs, on their knees. Lined up for him. Igneel handed him a gun and told him to finish the job.

His hands shook and his knees gave out, and he didn't want to. And god, did Igneel give him shit for it. Got down right beside him and screamed, screamed about how you can't be afraid to kill. And before, Natsu would've covered his ears and cried or something, but he was old enough now to know better. He'd hardened by this point. Igneel put the gun in Natsu's hands, then pointed the gun to his own forehead. And that was the first time Natsu had pointed a gun at someone—with a pistol directly to his own father's forehead. Maybe he could've pulled the trigger, but he didn't. He just turned to the lineup and shot the first man directly in the head.

And Igneel pushed him. Told him their names, screamed about their families as he shot each one. Because you can't be afraid to kill, can't hold back just because they have sons and daughters and wives. You can't be weak. You can't. You shoot the enemy and you watch their bodies fall limp and you watch the blood pool on the floor. You listen to them scream and beg for their lives, and you shoot them anyways. And you don't feel anything. If you do, you're weak, and they'll use it against you.

Natsu didn't like to think of these memories. He avoided it whenever possible. He remembered feeling so helpless, so weak…he used to have nightmares. He hated that, now. Hated that he'd struggled with killing, hated that he was so good at it now. Natsu locked his jaw and shoved the thoughts away, stepping over towards Lucy.

His hands brushed against hers as he took the gun out of her fingers. At his touch, Lucy peered up at him; her eyes were big and brown and wet, like a puppy who'd just been kicked. Natsu bit his cheek and looked down at the gun.

"I'm sorry," Lucy whispered. "I'm not good at this."

Natsu looked back to her. "It's okay." He remembered how small he felt back then, how he'd fallen to his knees rather than point the gun. "No one ever is, not at first."

More tears welled up in her eyes. "How do you get over it?"

"Over what?"

"The idea that—that you're killing a person." Lucy sniffled. "A _real_ person."

Natsu blinked, his hands stiffening around the gun. Maybe he could tell her the complete truth, say that you never get over the idea. You never forget that you are killing a person with a family, friends, pets. You never forget how they scream for mercy. You never forget how the bullet rips into them, how the blood gushes out, how they gurgle and cough when one bullet doesn't do the job. The memories never fade away, and you remember each one, and you bury it as deep as you possibly can inside of yourself because there isn't another way.

His voice was rough, low. "You try not to think about it."

"I don't know if I can."

"It takes practice." He knew his words weren't exactly helpful, but he didn't know what else to say. They were running out of time.

She blinked. "How many people did you kill until you started to forget?"

His gaze was dark, black as night. It hurt him to think back. He didn't like to remember. It brought the pain back, just as bold and bright and crystal clear as the first time. "I don't know," He murmured, although it was a complete lie. "Twenty, maybe."

But it still hurt. Each gunshot still bit at him. He still remembered every face.

"Great," Lucy said under her breath. "I'm screwed."

Gajeel let out a sigh, opting to sit on the bench rather than stand on the far edge of the ring. "Don't worry, Lucy. It was different for Natsu."

Lucy frowned, turning to look at Gajeel. "How so?"

"If you have to pull the trigger on someone, it'll be to survive." Gajeel's eyes flickered to the pink haired boy. "Natsu's first kills were…" He trailed off, falling quiet. His eyes flickered to his hands; he began to fiddle with his fingers.

"Training," Natsu said coldly, finishing the other boys' sentence. The word spat from his lips, bitter and angry. "Not about survival."

Lucy's eyes went soft, and her lips twisted downwards. His mask was on, but there was something…painful in his eyes. She felt her heart throb, ache for him. "Natsu…" She whispered, having nothing else to say. She felt horrible, unable to imagine what he'd been through as a young boy. She'd gone to school, made friends, had special moments with her mom and a common passion with her dad, but this boy…he was battered and beaten and abused, all alone. Forced to kill, alone. Turned into something he wasn't.

Even now, all of this—her being pushed into this—was a weapon against him. He tried to keep her safe, and this was Igneel's way of saying _no_.

So this—Lucy struggling, crying and shaking and not aiming the fucking gun—was all just her playing into what Igneel wanted. He _wanted_ her to fail this task. He wanted her to lose, because if she lost and she died then Salamander was back on track. No distractions, no girl to save, only the brotherhood.

It made Lucy mad. She was tired of hearing these stories, hearing about little Natsu being forced to watch his mother die, being forced to kill others, being forced to hurt and hurt and hurt. He was a killer and he could hurt people but he was _a person_ , deep inside, he'd shown her hints of it. And she'd felt it, in the way he saved her over and over even though he didn't need to.

He'd saved her, so she'd do this. She'd hold a gun and she'd point it at a person and if she had to, she'd pull the trigger.

Lucy bit her cheek and gritted her teeth; she reached out, grabbing the gun from Natsu's hands. She adjusted her grip on it, making sure her fingers laid the way the boys had showed her, and lifted it. Her chest hurt and she was breathing heavily but she ignored it, because she owed him this much. She owed him an effort. He'd saved her, after all.

She lifted the gun and pressed it to Natsu's forehead.

"Bang." She said, simulating the pull of the trigger, voice shaking and strained.

Natsu eyes were wide, staring straight back at her, surprised. There was a strange haze of darkness in his expression, pain and horror and anger fluttering to the surface. But, mostly, he was surprised. Her actions had shattered his emotionless mask, broke it completely. He stared at her, stunned.

She'd done this on her own. No one screamed, no one lined men up, no one beat her into it. She'd taken the gun and she'd pressed the cold metal to his skin. Her expression was weary and tired, but her eyes were bright. A fire had been lit, somewhere deep.

Lucy turned, pointing the gun towards Gajeel. "Bang."

Gajeel snorted. "Nice shot, kid."

Lucy let out a shaky breath, letting her arm drop to her side. Her body felt weak, like she was about to faint. This didn't solve anything, not really, but at least she knew what she was fighting for now.

She had to prove herself. She'd put all of her effort into this, fight with everything she had, even if she was scared. Because he saved her, and she owed him.

Gajeel suggested they take a break from the gun stuff for a while, let Lucy get her bearings again; Lucy agreed. He offered to let her try some more combat stuff on him, practice what she'd learned so far. Lucy nodded, frowing as she tried to remember the moves they'd gone over hours before.

Natsu still stood in the centre of the ring, stunned. His eyes still watching Lucy, that strange look on his face. Surprise, mixed with anger and sadness and pain and pride.

Gajeel nudged the pink haired boy. "Oi," He muttered, urging his friend out of the ring, "Take a seat."

Natsu swallowed, breaking out of his trance. "Oh. Right." He shook his head slightly, heading to the edge of the ring to observe his friends' practice. As he turned and walked away, his right hand came up and rubbed his eyes.

He watched as the blonde worked with Gajeel, practiced the moves they'd taught her. She was improving already, even after such a short amount of time. Her movements were becoming more fluid, more natural. She would strike and hit, ducking and dodging. She needed more work—Gajeel could easily dodge a few of her moves—but was doing well.

She was afraid, sure, but she seemed to push past it. She didn't need to be forced, screamed at, hit like Natsu had when he was young. She didn't fight it as much as he had. She was improving quickly, easily, without the fear or anger Natsu had felt. She was a natural, just as Gajeel had commented earlier.

Natsu looked at his hands, swallowing, a lump rising in his throat.

This girl, pure and honest, a natural born killer.

 **A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. It was a mixture of trying to hide my writing (its a secret hobby and no one knows and I'm insecure about it) and writers block. But I finally did it and wrote a chapter. Sorry if its boring, I feel so rusty :( Happy new year!**


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